


Truth or Dare

by Pure_jitterbug



Category: Beauty and the Beast (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pure_jitterbug/pseuds/Pure_jitterbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no Beast. There is no Muirfield. There is a Vincent. There is a Catherine. This is a fun story. You should be reading this.</p><p>WHY AREN'T YOU READING THIS ALREADY?!?!?!</p><p>A/U</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposition

"You've got to be out of your mind!" Catherine Chandler stared at her best friend, Heather, and wondered if the crazy scheme she just heard had actually come from her friend, or if she had hallucinated.

"Please, Cat! You're the only person I could ask to do this-"

"Wait a minute. Let me see if I can wrap my brain around this." Cat said, furiously pacing the bedroom they were supposed to be sharing. "You and Evan are getting married tomorrow, but instead of having a kick ass bachelorette party with the girls, you want me to crash Evan's bachelor party, in disguise, and make sure he doesn't screw any of the strippers?"

Heather nodded. "Help me, Obi-Wan, you're my only hope."

"And what are going to tell people about why I am not there? Tess and Brooke are seriously pissed at me as it is. They wanted me to fly in last week!" Cat asked incredulously.

Heather looked please that Cat had asked. "Oh, that's easy. Because of that huge storm last night, you had to land in Newark instead of JFK."

Catherine gaped at Heather. "This is crazy! Are you seriously considering getting married tomorrow afternoon to a man you don't trust?!"

"I trust Evan," Heather said, sitting back on the bed, propping herself up with pillows. "I just know that Evan is a man."

"Meaning…?"

"You know the old joke, about a man having a brain and a penis, and only enough blood …"

Cat laughed, "To run one at a time. And when the blood goes to the penis…."

"There goes the brain!" Heather finished.

Cat walked to the windows to stare outside. Christmas lights adorned the trees the trees in front of Heather's mothers home. She loved Christmas lights.

As Cat stared at the lights, she thought of how weary she was. She'd flown in late from San Francisco, just missing the rehearsal dinner earlier this evening, but arrived in plenty of time to be in the actual wedding. Tomorrow was the big day. Two o'clock pm was the magic hour. And she was the maid of honor.

Cat had attended college with Heather, and Heather had been as shy then as Catherine had been outgoing. As room-mates, they had become fast friends, and stayed that way over the years. Now, on the evening before the happiest night of Heather's life, she was scared shitless that Evan would be tempted to cheat on her.

Catherine rubbed her temples. She was starting to get a headache, and that was NEVER a good thing. "You know, if it wasn't for that bastard Josh, you would be fine right now."

Heather sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I know, I know."

Already knowing she was going to say yes, Cat released a gigantic sigh, saying, "All right. What do I need to do?"

Heather bolted upright. "Okay, Evan knows you are going to be in the wedding tomorrow, but he's never met you, so he won't recognize you. Plus, you'll be in disguise. I also found out where the party is tonight. It is over in The Bowery, at Vincent's house. He is Evan's best man. I was hoping you could go over there and come back when you find…"

"That there is nothing going on."

"Right," Heather sucked in a deep breath and blurted everything out at once, "Iwashopingyouwouldpretendtob eoneofthestrippers."

"WHAT!?"

"Well, I mean, you ARE a dancer. And it is not like you're modest. After all, I saw the performance your troupe did with the blue body paint and naught else. So, uh, I didn't think it would be that, um, difficult for you." Heather was pulling out all the stops, including crying, and Cat couldn't stand to see her best friend cry.

"But what if the worst happens? Do you really want to know? Is your love for Evan deep enough to withstand something like this? Or, are you going to call off the wedding?"

Heather chewed her lip, and steeled herself to answer. "Yes, I really want to know. Yes, I would call off the wedding. And if Evan can debase himself by cheating on me with the entertainment, then no, my love will not be deep enough. You know I can't get burned again like Josh burned me."

"Fucking Josh Farrell! OK, let's see Evan's picture again."

"I knew I could count on you!"

Later that evening, Catherine walked down Vincent's street, hoping that no-one was staring. She wore thigh-high black boots, tight black leather skirt, black chemise, and a matching black leather trench coat. Her make-up was heavily applied, with bright red lipstick. On her head, she wore a platinum wig, styled short and bobbed. It was the total opposite of long, straigh, naturally deep brown hair. The last thing that Catherine wanted was to get recognized at the altar tomorrow.

It wasn't every day that your maid of honor was also a spy.

It wasn't that hard to find Vincent's house. First, there were cars parked everywhere. Second, was the heavy bass of music floating out into the night.

Thirdly, was the group of women huddled on the side of the house, arguing.

Catherine decided to jump in feet first. "Hey, you guys here for the party?"

The three women turned to look at the newcomer with something close to fear in their eyes.

"What's wrong?" Catherine asked, moving closer.

"One of our girls couldn't make it. She got food poisoning from a bad taco."

Catherine grimaced.

"We think the guy that hired is gonna get mad. He insisted on four girls."

"What do you have to do?" Catherine thought she should know where they draw the line at.

"Just Vicky Secret's stuff. Strip to underwear, flirt with the groom. The guy who hired us wanted to be tame, but intriguing."

"So, nothing kinky, no girl on girl?" Catherine mused aloud. "You know, I think I can help you girls out!"

"How?"

Cat explained how Heather had been burned in the past and was sent to spy on Evan. How she could help, being a dancer and all. They asked her if she was comfortable in her underwear. She briefly talked about her dance troupe, Emotion in Motion.

"Yeah, but can you dance sexy?"

Deciding to go for broke, Catherine swept her trench coat off, snapped her fingers, then began to groove to the beat coming from Vincent's house behind them.

"Wow, those are some great moves! All right, you can come with. Just stick close to me and let me know if any of the guys try anything funny."


	2. The Striptease

A/N: I forgot to put this in my first chapter. I'm A.D.H.D. I don't own anything or anyone. Characters belong to The CW and the story mostly belongs to Elda Minger, "The Dare" Awesome stuff. Just playing around in others people's world. So no sue.

* * *

It had been so much easier the she expected. She slipped in right behind the other three girls. Evan was easy to spot, in the main chair in the family room. She also noticed that smack dab in the middle of comfortable chairs and sofas, a heavy, square coffee table had been cleared of everything and gleamed like a little mini-stage.

Catherine followed the girls' leads and flung her black trench coat over the side of one of the couches along with the other girls' winter garments.

_My first bachelor party. This should be interesting. At the very least, it won't be boring!_

Cat had thought that they would start dancing right away, but instead they were offered drinks and given introductions, but everyone offered first names only. One of the girls, the leader presumably, introduced Catherine as Candy, so she went with it. And she asked for a soda as opposed to anything alcoholic.

The girls were also offered beautiful, glittery domino masks with feathery plumes, and Cat realized this bachelor party had a theme: Mardi gras.

Gold coins and colorful plastic beads were scattered around the rooms between bowls of chips and dips and Evans of sandwiches. The large sheet cake decorated with an edible cookie tombstone and the words, "R.I.P. Evan" and, "Another Man Bites the Dust" written in icing sparkled with colored sugar in golds, greens, and purples.

Cat took her mask and put it on. And in the strangest way, it made her feel almost invisible: as if she could watch everything without being seen.

There were about 30 or so men there, all in their early to mid-thirties. Catherine could almost feel the testosterone like a tangible cloud in the room.

"I don't see the guy that hired us," one of the girls whispered. "Oh, well, his loss. Why don't we get started?"

As if on cue, the stereo system began to thump out the opening bars to The Rolling Stones' classic, "Brown Sugar." Guitar licks filled the room. If ever there was a song for dirty dancing, this was it.

"Great," Catherine said, and she and another made their way through the sea of male bodies and admiring eyes toward that large, gleaming coffee table. Cat had been keeping an eye on Evan, and she had a feeling he had already drank QUITE a bit. He wouldn't be doing anything amorous tonight.

One of the men offered a hand up, and she took it, smiling sweetly. Closing her eyes, Catherine began to sway to the music, a smile on her lips.

_Smart move, putting me up her with another girl. We don't even HAVE to do anything together. It will all be implied._

The music revved up, someone turned the tunes up, and Cat opened her eyes to see that her "partner" had already removed her skirt, much to the cheers of the men.

_Whoops! Time to catch up…_

She worked the zipper down on her leather skirt, laughing as it snagged on her black satin panties.

_Hey! This is actually kinda fun._

The skirt came off, and when Cat threw it, it landed on some guys head, like a necklace. As the songs passed, the clothing began to come off more and more. As the other girls got on the table, Cat started to notice that they were flashing the guys. Unfortunately, she was more amply endowed than the rest. Even more unfortunately, her bra unfastened in the back, whereas the other girls were wearing 'front unloaders'. And every male eye was now on Cat.

_What to do?_

She continued to dance around the table as the other girls got down. She was alone on the table. And she would swear she could hear every guy wonder what was beneath the black satin push-up bra.

_Ah, what the heck…_

Smiling a private, dreamy smile designed to drive a man crazy, Catherine began to sway to Chris Isaak's "Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing".

And she reached for the hooks at the back of her bra.

* * *

Vincent Keller sat at his massive oak desk, on the phone, trying not to listen to the sounds of the party drifting beneath the door.

One of the trade-offs of being highly successful was that sometimes your day went a lot longer than five o'clock.

And he was successful beyond his wildest dreams. He and his business partner, J.T. Forbes, had designed a compact mass storage device for computers, and it took off like a shot. They had made millions with it when it went public, and they had fun doing it.

Vincent frowned. At least J.T. had managed the fun part. He routinely nagged him to loosen up and live a little, but he was a serious man by nature. That was why he and J.T. complemented each other in business.

Vincent listened carefully, and as the conversation wound down, J.T. said, "Wasn't there a party you were supposed to go to tonight?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his fingers along his temples, a headache beginning. Not a good sign. Vincent suddenly realized that he had worked straight through lunch and needed to get something to eat.

"Well, get going. And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Which means open season?" Vincent grinned.

"You said it, not me," said J.T., sounding amused. "All I know, Vincent, is that all work and no play makes for a life that sucks."

"You have got a point there," Vincent said, glancing at his watch. "How's Riley doing?" he asked, referring to his five year black lab. He had asked J.T. to watch him, as Riley didn't like people crowds.

"Currently, he's licking himself. Obviously, he's thinking of you right now."

"Nice, J.T. Real attractive. Thanks for keeping him."

"He is fine. Don't worry about him."

"I will call in the next few days." Vincent hung up the phone, and then stood, stretching his long frame. He cocked his head, listening to roars and masculine shouts coming from the family room down the hall.

_What the hell is going on?_

He started towards the door of the den, opened it, and headed toward the family room.

* * *

She teased, tormented, and tortured them. And where she got the desire to do so, Catherine had no idea. It was as if a hidden talent she didn't know she had just burst out of her. Of course, the disguise helped. A lot. She felt like another woman. A sexy, powerful, experienced woman. A woman who could lead men all sorts of erotic roads.

She'd reached for the back fastening of her bra, then hesitated, her hands coming to her front, then drifting back, and the third time, still teasing, she'd finally unfastened her bra in back. Catherine always believed that a proper striptease was a work of art. She'd never had a chance to do one, and probably never would again, and she intended to make the most out of this wonderful opportunity.

They were mesmerized, every man in the room riveted on her hands, waiting for her to slip the bra down lower, lower and finally come off….

But she didn't. She made them wait

Cat slid the back fastenings apart let the lacy bra straps slide down her shoulders, then moved her hands so she was cupping the bra in front of her breasts.

The men were losing their minds, begging her to take it off.

She had the idea to look over at Evan, wondering how he was doing.

Evan was sound asleep.

Cat smiled, almost laughed, and continued to dance, her hips swaying in time to the music, her hands on black satin. Then she flashed the bra up, revealing her naked breasts, and swiftly covered them again. The men reacted like they had never seen breasts before.

Catherine laughed. She lifted the bra again, allowing only a slightly longer glance. Totally teasing.

The men were going, in a word, ape shit.

She slipped the bra into the crowd, straight toward a tall, dark-haired man who was coming toward her with an expression on his handsome face that was not at all amused.


	3. The Plan

Vincent had walked into the family room just in time to see the blond haired dancer flash her breasts to his half-crazed friends. And his first thought was:  _When the hell did I ever see this in the Victoria's Secret catalog?_

Vincent fumed. Evan was terrified enough of getting married tomorrow. He didn't need anything like this to get him into trouble, or help him do something stupid. Heather would be heartbroken if she even thought he would even consider cheating on her.

As the crowd parted to let his determined body through, the dancer turned, stopped, faced him, and threw her bra into the crowd.

Vincent reached up, caught it, headed straight over to the coffee table, took the half naked woman into his arms, heaved her over his shoulders, and stalked out of the family room and towards his den.

"Hey!" Catherine exclaimed, wriggling in his grasp. "Put me down, you...you...beast!"

He put her down, and she immediately turned and ran down the hall, back toward the party. He set off in hot pursuit.

When he found her, she was drinking a glass of punch, chatting with the bartender, and fastening the last clasp of her bra.

_When did she get the bra back from me?_

Vincent's eyes narrowed as he studied her. As annoyed as he was at her actions, he had to admit she had pretty magnificent breasts.

"Just what do you think you were doing up there?" he asked, he tone low and even, trying to control his temper.

"Dancing. And doing a damn fine job of it, if I do say so myself."

Vincent immediately began scanning the room. "Where is Evan?" he thought out loud.

"Sacked out in the recliner," the dancer said, and he glanced at her. He liked her voice, even though he didn't want to. Low, soft, sexy, and utterly feminine. Though he hated to admit it, it suited her.

_Wait a minute…_

"How do you know Evan?" he asked her.

 

* * *

 

Catherine hesitated. If she didn't think fast, her cover was blown. The wedding would be all over, and it would be her fault!

"He was introduced when we first arrived. After all, he IS the bachelor," Cat said, grateful that she came up with something on the spot.

"He is scared shitless about tomorrow, and the last thing he needs is to be tempted!"

She would have just said 'Sorry' and been done with it, but the little devil on her shoulder pushed her to shrug and say, "I don't know what happened. They just sort of, popped out, you know, a will of their own."

Vincent reached for her arm. She slapped his hand.

"Ah, ah, looky, no touchy."

He stepped back. "I hired all of you on the grounds that this party remain…"

"Tame?" Catherine supplied the word for him, the shoulder devil driving her on.

Vincent hesitated.

"Boring?" she added, taking a sip of punch.

"You," he said between clenched teeth, "have quite an attitude."

"Do you boss everyone around like this, or am I just special?" There was just something about this guy that made her want to goad him.

"At the moment," he said, his voice becoming low and deadly, "it seems to be just you."

"Well, aren't I the lucky one?" he muttered over her drink as she took a gulp.

"Slow down with the liquor," he said , taking the cup out of her hand.

"There's no alcohol in that," she laughed.

"Actually, there is," said the bartender, sheepishly, "Vodka."

"Amazing, you can't even tell; it tastes just like Hawaiian Punch." She squinted her eyes at the bartender. "Which one of you three added the booze?"

Vincent sighed, took her arm, and then swung her up over his shoulder, again.

Back in the den, he set her down on the leather sofa.

"Maybe you should sleep it off while the other girls dance."

Catherine pressed her hand to her forehead. "I am kind of dizzy."

"Were you drunk while you were dancing?"

She glared at him. "Not that it is any of your business, but no, I wasn't.""

"Actually, it is. I arranged this little shindig."

 _Whoops._  She didn't want to get the other girls in trouble.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound contrite.

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"Oh, come on, how am I supposed to apologize if all you do is make everything sound like a lie?"

"You are doing a fine job of that yourself."

Cat glared at him, then took off her mask and set it down next to her. She lay down and closed her eyes. "I'm just going to pretend that you are not here," she whispered.

"The feeling is mutual."

She hadn't been on the couch three minutes when the phone rang. She caught the name J.T.. Cat gathered by his brusque tone that J.T. was a business associate, and not a loved one.

So when he strode out of the room without hanging it up, Cat acted impulsively and picked up the phone.

"J.T.?" she asked

"Yes, this is J.T.. Who's this?" came a very interested voice.

She decided to get straight to the point. "Is he always this bad?"

"Vincent? Bad? No, he is usually much worse."

Catherine had to laugh.

"So, he's refusing to have fun again, isn't he?" J.T. asked.

_You could say that._

Cat decided to throw caution to the wind and explained what happened.

"Let me understand. You danced topless, and Vincent objected?"

"Yup."

"He has been working too hard. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Funny. Really, though?"

"Twenty six."

J.T. sighed. "He's losing his mind."

"How can I get him to loosen up and have fun?" she asked, amazed at how the alcohol had removed the filter between brain and mouth.

J.T. was silent for a moment, and then said, "I have a plan. And, it's a great idea."

"What?"

"Vincent can't refuse a dare. It's gotta be genetic, cause his dad's the same. Just dare him to do something, and he'll be putty."

"Hmmm," Cat hiccuped gently. "That's sounds fun."

"Just be sure that you REALLY want him to do something, because once you get him started, he's not gonna back down."

"Got it."

"What's your name?"

She hiccuped again. "Cat. Oops, I mean, Candy."

J.T. laughed. "Oh, this just gets better and better. Well, I'm going to wish you luck, Cat Candy, and we had better get off the phone before Vincent realizes that I have been giving away state secrets."

"Okay, thanks J.T.."

"I'd say my pleasure, but I think it might be Vincent's."

Catherine laughed, set down the phone, and ran unsteadily back to the couch, where she lay down and closed her eyes. The plan was to pretend to sleep, gather her thoughts, and figure out what to do next.

She was asleep before Vincent came back into the room.


	4. The Dare

Vincent sent the other three girls home with hefty tips and his total appreciation.

Most of his guests had either retired to bedrooms in his house, or like Evan, were passed out on the family room floor.

So Vincent went back to the den and watched Candy sleep. And he got her a blanket, so she wouldn't get cold. Then he studied her face while she slept.

_She really is a stunner._

Vincent wasn't the type to go to strip clubs, but there was a moment there, when she threw her bra at him…

Well, he would have to be 10 years dead not to appreciate that incredibly feminine body. Or those curves, that sense of aliveness, that total feeling of being in the moment.

For the briefest moment, he'd felt so alive. Really alive! And that moment had made him realize how seldom he had felt that way over the last few years. All he had really been focused on was building his business.

Vincent considered all this as he watched her sleep and thought about the wedding that would take place tomorrow. There was a part of him that had resented having to be responsible for Evan. Even though Evan was a close friend, he had wondered why Evan was so afraid of marrying Heather. It wasn't like she was a witch or anything. She was a sweetheart. Vincent has always assumed that when you knew it was right, when you finally with the right woman, things just sort of plowed from there and fell into place.

Candy groaned, and then stretched, causing the blanket to fall to the floor. Her heavily mascaraed lashes fluttered open and she glanced over at him.

"What time is it?" she whispered.

"Right around two in the morning," he whispered back.

She tried to sit up, then lay back down on the couch. "Woah."

"You need to eat something," he said holding out cake and praying she wasn't the kind of girl that was picky with her food.

"Fantastic! I'm starving," she said grabbing the cake right off the plate. She finished in record time, and Vincent stared, fascinated, as she licked her fingers clean.

Vincent swallowed audibly. She was just so ALIVE. How could he be so attracted to a woman he had been so annoyed with earlier?

"Do you have a ride home?" he asked, watching the way she wouldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Sure."

"You're such a liar," he whispered.

"Oh, yeah? What makes you an expert?"

He didn't say anything, wondering why he had the urge to be so rude with her, to get her going. And he found he liked arguing with her.

"How about a little game?" she said.

He liked the way her eyes were sparkling. This woman radiated fun. "What kind of game?" The images in his head were totally X rated.

"Truth or dare. I get to go first."

"Fine. I'll pick truth."

"Were you pissed off, having to babysit Evan?"

Vincent hesitated. The quiet honor between friends battled with the truth.

"Truth," she said softly.

"Yeah, it pissed me off."

"Good."

"Are you some sort of exotic dancer? Truth."

"Yes, I am a dancer." She smiled up at him and he watched as she moistened those bright red lips with her tongue. Oh, yeah, definitely X-rated thoughts.

"Are you attracted to me?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He barely waited for her to finish. "Yes."

"Do you want to kiss me?" she asked.

He paused.

"Truth," she said.

"Yeah."

The silence stretched between them until she said, "Well, we've done the truth, now how about the dare?"

"What do you mean?" His heart was pounding heavily, slowly speeding up. This woman was absolutely incredible. A fantasy come true.

No, make that  _HIS_  fantasy come true.

"I dare you," she said, her eyes never leaving the deep chocolate of his.

His eyebrow rose. "Dare me what?" he asked.

"I dare you," she said, "to kiss me."

It was a dare he didn't even try to resist.

"You got it," he said softly and was pleased at her reaction. Those incredible hazel eyes widen slightly, and his entire body hummed with sexual anticipation as he watched her tongue dart out and nervously lick those glossy red lips.

"Truth," he said. "Are you scared?"

"Of you? Of course not!" she replied.

"Good," he said, and he got up from the leather chair he had been sitting in and approached the couch she was lying on. As he came around the large coffee table, he caught sight of her expression and realized she was just as excited as he was.

He knew it was going to be good with her, as he lowered his body down on to the couch. He sat down by her side, then leaned over.

He decided to go for broke and kicked off his shoes and slid over her, so his body was pressed was pressed along every inch of hers. Their faces were close, but he still hadn't kissed her.

She smiled up at him. That mouth! Then she whispered, "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you really just that happy to see me?"

He almost laughed. "I'm . . . just . . ." He moved his mouth closer to hers, quarter inch by quarter inch. "Really . . . happy . . . to . . ." His mouth hovered right above hers, so close he could feel her breath on his face. "See . . . you." He sighed, then lowered his lips to hers and took her mouth.

It tasted just as sweet as it looked, and the gloss had some kind cinnamon flavoring to it. Hot and spicy. Sticky and sweet. He kissed her, and the added sensation of her body pressed against his fired him up so that he couldn't think straight.

She kissed him back with such feeling, moving her body in a slow sensuous way against his. He remembered she was a dancer and dancers knew how to move.

He broke the first kiss and didn't even give her a chance to breath before going directly to the next. His hands started to roam, and he found that he had to touch her breasts. Those breasts had been tormenting him since he had first seen them, since he had flashed him while she was dancing. He'd thought of those breasts, how it would feel to touch them, to taste them.

As he continued to kiss her, his hand slid to the fastening in the back of her bra, and within seconds it was open. Then he slid his fingers around to her front and slid them up and under the black satin bra. She whimpered beneath his mouth, made a small, strangled sound as he cupped her breast, then teased the erect nipple with his thumb and forefinger. He broke their kiss and slithered down her body, taking that taut nipple into his mouth and pulling on it strongly.

 

* * *

 

 

When he took her nipple in his mouth, Catherine almost shot up off the couch.

She was in  _BIG_  trouble. This man could get more mileage out of a kiss than most men could out of an entire night. Those first two long, slow kisses had almost rendered her totally immobile. Soft. Pliable. Willing. Wanting.

Now she groaned deep in her throat and found herself moving against his mouth, wanting more, not quite sure what she was asking for, though she had a general idea of what comes next.

She tensed, a little anxious.

Vincent stopped kissing and caressing her breasts and whispered, "What is it?"

Cat realized her body went completely still. Searching for a reason he would find acceptable, she whispered, "The door. Anybody could walk right in."

"Oh. Sorry." He seemed slightly ashamed that he hadn't thought to lock it or at least close it. She watched Vincent as he got up off of the couch so gracefully, and she liked the way he moved as he walked to the den door, shut it, locked it, and then turned back to her.

"How about a fire?"

Catherine blinked, and then said, "I think we already got one going."

He laughed, and then went to the large fireplace where he quickly and efficiently built a fire.

"Wine?" he suggested.

Maybe a glass of wine would make this whole thing easier. It was her first time doing this sort of thing, and she had waited what seemed like forever for it to seem right. For a moment she wanted to tell him tonight would be a first for her, that she had never been with a man before, but she knew that might blow her cover. Who would believe that an exotic dancer was a virgin?

"Why not?" she said, lying back on the couch and shrugging off her bra.

Catherine was going for broke.

* * *

_God, she is glorious._

Vincent had spent his entire adult life surrounded by women who played games until the moment arrived, then acted coy and indignant. So Candy was a totally refreshing change for him. He got a big kick out of the way she just shrugged off the bra like she didn't have a care in the world. She just lounged on the couch in just a pair of black panties and those thigh high boots.

_If this is a dream, please don't wake me up!_

Vincent walked over to the mini-bar he set up, and lost in a Candy-coated haze, popped a bottle of wine, and filled two wine glasses to the very top.

He stared at them, and frowned.

_Too obvious._

He wasn't trying to get her drunk. He just didn't want to stop for refills.

God! He felt seventeen again, before his very first time. Candy stirred him up and make him feel alive, no doubt about it.

_To hell with obvious. I want her._

Grabbing the glasses, he spun around to find she had moved from the couch to lie on the bearskin rug J.T. had got him last Yule. Something about a beast for a beast. He didn't understand it then, but he was certainly grateful for the gift now, as he watched it get put to good use.

The firelight out lined her profile, that classic face, that slender body, those terrific breasts just bathed in fire. He stopped to study her and felt his body tighten with intense desire, urging him on.

* * *

She looked up as Vincent approached. The leather had turned cold so she had moved toward the warmth of the fire.

"Cold?" he asked, handing her a huge glass of white wine and sitting down next to her.

"A little. This is better," she said, indicating the fire. "And now, you're here."

She saw a quick light of pleasure flare in those dark eyes. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she raised her glass into the air. He might not know why, but Catherine wanted to toast tonight. She knew what she was giving up, and she was doing this of her own free will. Somehow tonight just seemed like the night.

Right time, right moment…..and the right man.

"To tonight," she whispered to Vincent. "To a night that will exceed both of our wildest expectations."

"Oh, I'm sure it will."

She closed her eyes and took a long swallow of wine, then set it aside. "Well, let's get down to it," she said brightly.

He seemed to choke on his wine a little: it almost came out his nose. He coughed, and then set his glass of wine down. "Just like that?"

"Don't you want to?"

"Of course I do. I just didn't want you to think…."

"That you wanted me for a night of intense, no holds barred, no strings attached, hot monkey sex?" she supplied sweetly.

She had rendered him completely speechless.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" she mused, picking up her glass and taking a sip. It really was quite good.

"Doesn't that upset you?" he asked incredulously.

"Vincent," she said, wondering if every girl had to work as hard to lose their virginity. "Do other women put all these demands on you?"

"Well . . . yeah."

"Well," she said, setting her glass down and arching her back slightly, "not me. After all, Danger . . . is my middle name." She had heard that line in the Lion King and always wanted to use it.

Twenty six was just too damn old to still be a virgin. It was time to start living.

He hesitated, and Catherine decided to go all out. She lifted her hips slightly.

"Could you help me take these off?" she said, indicating her panties. "I find that they just get in the way."

That did it. He grabbed for his sweater and pulled in over his head. His shirt came next, buttons flying. Next, the pants, and she was sure Vincent set a new land speed record for the removal of pants. He threw his clothing to the side with a reckless abandon that fired up her blood.

Only one small detail; as she looked at his aroused body, his magnificent, totally male, incredibly aroused body, she caught sight of IT.

He must have seen the vaguely terrified expression on her face.

"What's wrong?"

She swallowed, and then decided she could answer him honestly. "It's just . . . I've never seen one . . . quite so . . . wow." That was the truth at least.

"Wow?"

"Uh-huh."

He smiled then, and Cat got her first taste of true male ego.

"You aren't scared, are you?" he said.

_Of that? You bet._

"Me, oh, no, it's just…. a little overwhelming at first glance. I'm fine." She said, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back. She started to laugh. "You can do anything you want to me, but I dare you to do it right now!"

Vincent laughed, and then she watched him as he picked up his wine. He took a sip and held it in his mouth.

"What are you up to?" she whispered when he gave her a devilish wink.

And then she found out.

He slid down her body, her legs wide open, and settled between her thighs. With one hand, he pulled her panties to the side and found her with his lips and tongue.

"Oh . . . my . . . GOD!" she cried out, and climaxed within minutes.

He was enough of a gentleman to let her recover.

"I want to get a good look at you," she whispered.

"Oh, be my guest," he breathed, as she scooted towards him.

He was impressive. Extremely impressive. She circled the base of his erection with her hand, amazed that her fingers didn't touch.

Wow, indeed.

She didn't want to give away her inexperience, so she said, "I know all men are different, so could you show me what you like?"

For a minute she thought she had done something wrong, because he started to laugh.

"What?" she asked.

"I think I've died and gone to heaven." He put his hand over hers and showed her what he liked.

"Thanks, I think I've got it from here."

"I'm sure you do," he said, his voice tight.

Slowly, so carefully, she lowered her mouth to the tip of his massive erection and eased him in. And almost laughed when she heard his strangled moan. When he stopped her, she was confused.

"You didn't like it?"

"Oh, no. You might say I liked it way too much. If you had kept going, well . . ."

"Oh." Her face flamed as she suddenly understood what he was saying.

"Come here," he said, drawing her into his arms as he sat up. He kissed her long and hard, cupping her face in his hands. "You're the best thing that's happened to me in . . . forever."

"You, too," she said and meant it.

"Let's take these off, shall we?" he said, hooking his fingers into the sides of her panties.

"Let's," she said, rising up on her knees, he slipped her panties down to her thighs. She sat back down, her bare bottoms against the fur, and he slid her panties down past her ankles, and then helped her take off her boots. . . . And she was totally naked.

"What's that?" he asked, his eye caught on something.

"What?"

"On your butt."

"Oh. It's a rose." She had gotten the tattoo on her twenty first birthday, on a dare. A small red rose with a green stem and two leaves. It was so much a part of her, there were times she forgot she even had it.

"Turn over," he said, and she obediently lay on her stomach while he studied it.

"It's very pretty."

"I like it."

"You're very pretty."

Catherine smiled. "I like you."


	5. The Cherry

Vincent took her hand, pulled her toward him, and kissed her. And kissed her, harder. More insistently. He slid up her body and braced himself over her. She looked up at him and knew that his was it.

He slid into her with an unchecked masculine force that rocked her back hard against the floor. At the quick, sharp pain, tears gathered in her eyes, but she closed them because she didn't want him to know.

But that pain, that peculiar burning, stretching sensation, was so quickly replaced by intense pleasure that she found herself grabbing her shoulders, rearing up off of the rug, then grasped his butt so he had to move against her just so.

And then it happened again, another climax, and she thought he would finish, but he kept moving right through it, thrusting into her again and again. And the intensely sexual rhythm increasing, the strength of it, the speed, had Catherine orgasming all over again.

_HOLY SHIT!_

He was pounding into her, his body moving as if it was out of his conscious control. Then she felt him stop, tense, and felt those muscular contractions. He groaned, buried his face against her shoulder, then gasped for air as if he had been running for miles.

She could feel his heartbeat racing against her chest. When it finally slowed, he raised his head and found her lips with his. He kissed her, then slowly slid to the side, keeping their bodies joined.

She couldn't keep her eyes open. Her eyelids drifted shut, and the only thought on her mind was that it had certainly been worth the wait.

Catherine didn't know how much time had passed when she woke, but she knew the blanket had slipped off her shoulders, and she was cold. The fire had burned down to embers, and the den was almost totally dark.

She pulled at the blanket, managed to get a little more out from under Vincent's prone body, then started when she heard his voice.

"You awake?"

She hesitated. "Yeah."

He rolled over and moved his body so they could cover themselves with the blanket while lying on the rug.

"You okay?" he asked, and she heard the hesitation in his voice.

"I'm great. How about you?"

In answer, an arm came around her waist and pulled her tightly against him.

"What do you think?" he whispered, and she realized he was aroused again, hard and ready.

Catherine searched for his face in the dark, kissed him. He responded, and she found it took a lot less foreplay to get both of them ready, because they had been so primed for it before. And even though she was sore, when he reached between her legs, she knew she would let him inside her again.

But she was surprised when Vincent rolled onto his back, the blanket still over him, and positioned her over his hard arousal. She slid down onto him, and this time it was easier; there was no pain as he entered her, then filled her so completely. Only pleasure, waves of it, immense pleasure as he began to move beneath her and she matched his rhythm.

She moved against him with absolutely no inhibitions. Being a dancer, she was at home with her body, but this man matched her move for move; he was a fantastic sexual partner. He moved his hands to her waist, his fingers biting into the sides of her body; then they moved lower, so both thumbs grazed that most sensitive spot.

"Come for me," he whispered, and his words fired her up even more.

"Come for me, I want to watch you come."

Vincent pressed harder, seeming to know what she wanted and needed before she did. And when she did come, she threw back her head and cried out, "YES!"

He rolled her over on her back after that, and pumped into her, seeking his own release. She wrapped her legs around his waist and hung on. Just when she thought he couldn't go in any deeper, he moved back and hooked her legs over his shoulder, then started moving again, and she knew she was taking him deeper, and it felt incredible.

Then Vincent found his release, and she went with him, right at the same time. And she didn't even feel him crushing down on her after it was all over, because she had her arms tightly around his neck and had decided that she couldn't possibly leave something this good.

She would tell Vincent the truth in the morning.

He moved off her, and she snuggled up against his big, warm body. The seemed to radiate heat. And as his muscular arm came around her waist and beneath her breasts, as he tucked himself in behind her like they were two little spoons in a drawer, Catherine fell asleep with an incredibly satisfied smile on her face.

She would tell him. She would be a fool not to, after a night like this.


	6. The Morning After

When Catherine woke the following morning, it took her a few seconds to figure out where she was.

Her eyelids didn't seem to want to work properly, probably due to the fact that her lashes were stuck together with heavy mascara. She rubbed them with her fingers, then blinked them open, her vision blurring as a speck of mascara flaked into one eye. It watered, she blinked, and the first thing she focused on, in the early morning winter sunlight streaming into the den, was the glittery purple domino mask on the coffee table by the leather couch.

_A mask. . ._

Catherine blinked, stared at Vincent while he slept, and remembered all of it. In excruciating detail.

_Yikes!_

She blinked again.

_The wedding. Today. Oh, my God._

She had to get away. She had to get out of this house before Vincent woke up and started asking questions. Like the million dollar one: What had she been thinking?

She wasn't the sort of girl who threw caution to the wind. And Cat had the feeling that Vincent was not the kind of man whose normal companions were as totally inexperienced as she was.

Make that had been: past tense. As in, before last night. Before Vincent had come into her life.

She glanced around, found her panties and reached for them. As she slipped them on and found her bra, Cat knew she couldn't blame Vincent for what had happened between them. He had been a gentleman, she had been the one who had dared him, then later that night double dared him, and then . . . .

She bit her lip against the groan that threatened to escape, fastened her bra, and reached for her boots.

_Oh, and one other little detail. Where are my clothes?_

_Out in the family room, with the rest of the guys._

She could only hope they were all passed out.

She had her second boot zipped up and was about to stand, when Vincent stretched, mumbled something, then turned toward her and gently grasped her upper arm with his hand.

"Candy . . ." he muttered.

_He doesn't even know my real name._

For some reason, this bothered her. Cat knew that after the wedding she would never see him again, and she would never let on what had happened. But for some reason, it bothered her that she would never hear that sexy, smoky voice say her real name. For just a moment, she felt incredible guilt over her deception.

"Hey, Vincent," she whispered. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, and then those lips, those lips that had done such wonderfully naughty things to her the night before.

"Candy," he whispered again. "Dance for me. . . ."

And then he drifted off to sleep.

Well. This chapter of her life was over. The wedding, the reception, then a quick hop, skip, and jump to the airport, and she would never see Vincent again.

Catherine hesitated, finding that leaving this man was harder than she'd thought. The truth, she was discovering, was that she sucked at one night stands. She didn't want to leave. They'd been so close, and now she had to leave him.

_He thinks you are a stripper. You were the classic one night stand, for Christ's sake! It's not like Vincent is offering you the little house with the white picket fence, two car garage, a golden retriever and two point five children. Though, I've never understood how you could have half a kid. . . ._

She bit her lip as she stared at him, committing that body, that hair, that face, to memory.

_Those hands. . . ._

She couldn't believe how shaken up she was.

_That voice. . . ._

That voice in the dark had been magic.

She couldn't seem to move.

 _Get going!_  The voice of sanity in her head screamed.

 _But we had something special here,_  the first voice insisted.  _And a guy who made love to you the way this one did last night has had plenty of practice. Think about that._

_Yeah, there's that. And, the fact that I have never done anything this crazy before._

_Right! So get out!_

_But. . . ._

For some crazy reason, she was about to shake Vincent awake, when she remembered Heather.

_Best friend, wedding day. Ring any bells? You were spying on her husband-to-be. And if the truth comes out, there will be no wedding._

Heather would be the big loser here. And she knew she could never do that to Heather, not when the rest of her life was at stake.

Thoughts of Heather galvanized Catherine into action. She got to her feet, took one last, long look at Vincent, went through the door, and ran to find her clothes.

It was a cinch to find them, though she had to pry her skirt away from a guy that was using it as a pillow.

She let herself out the front door and looked up to see it snowing again. Light, lacy flakes floated down out of the leaden sky. She jogged two blocks over and down, called a cab, and hightailed it back to the house.

When she was inside and saw that it was only six in the morning, she hurried to the bathroom and locked the door. Only then did Cat let herself believe that she was actually going to get away with what she had done.

Dressed as a stripper.

Crashed a bachelor Party.

Spied on Evan.

Slept with Vincent… _oops! Not part of the plan._  And, she resolved as she took off the wig, that was the part no-one else would ever know.

Catherine took a deep breath and stared at her face in the mirror.

She looked like a wild woman . . . but a satisfied wild woman.

_No. You have to stop thinking about him. You mean nothing to him; just a stripper on the road of life, two ships that met in the night. Ugh! Stop mixing metaphors!_

She was going to was that man out of her hair, off her body, get his scent off of her, forget the feel of his hands, those lips, that voice, his . . .

_Forget it ever happened._

She stepped beneath the hot spray of the shower and reached for the soap. As soon as she finished, she'd give Heather the rundown, more or less.

* * *

Vincent groaned and rolled over, wrapping his legs in the blanket. He grunted, then smiled as he took a deep breath in and remembered. . . .

_Candy. . . ._

He opened his eyes.

Candy was gone.

Vincent frowned, then slowly sat up and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

_Odd…._

He hadn't even paid her. Not for the sex, but for the dancing. She was hired to do a job, and she did a damn fine one, whipping his guests into a frenzy before he dragged her into the den. And he could honestly say that, when he brought her back here, he'd had no intentions of having sex with her.

Hell, he didn't know sex like that existed.

He glanced over at the table and caught sight of the mask. And remembered that face, that short blond hair, those glossy red lips forming the words that had done him in.

_I dare you to kiss me. . . ._

He'd had a lot of sexual experiences in his twenty-nine years, but last night had been the single best night of his life.

Vincent frowned.

_Then why had she left?_

A sudden thought chilled him.

_Maybe she's married._

He couldn't believe that. Didn't want to.

_Why had she left?_

He sat there, lost in his once again Candy-coated thoughts, when he heard a loud snore that broke him out of his reverie.

_Wedding, right._

Vincent glanced at the clock. 8:45am.

Evan. The wedding.

He stood up and put his pants on. Walking into the family room, he saw Evan asleep on the floor, face smooshed into the rug.

Time to get moving, and get this show on the road.

"Evan," he said, shaking his buddy's shoulder. "Evan!"

"Evan! DAMN IT EVAN, GET UP! YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED TODAY!"

Evan opened a bleary eye and croaked, "Coffee?"

"I'll make you coffee while you get in the shower. Get moving. We have to be at the church by noon, and you need to look a hell of a lot better than you do right now."

Evan slowly rose to his feet and went into the bathroom. As soon as Vincent heard Evan turn the water on, he grabbed the phone book.

Dancing Body Parts, Inc.

_Ah, there it is._

As he dialed the number, he recalled why he picked that company, and he smiled. The name just reminded him of the video "Thriller". He just imagined random arms and legs dancing in sync. He chuckled. Man, was he glad he picked that one.

"Dancing Body Parts, how can we service you?"

"This is Vincent Keller, I hired four girls for a bachelor party last night…."

"One moment please."

Vincent started grinning ear-to ear when he hear that the hold musak was "Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing"

"This is Zeke, how can I help you?" asked the voice at the other end.

"This is Vincent Keller."

"Yes, the bachelor party. Let me guess, you want to hire one of the girls for a private party."

Vincent blanched, "How did you know?"

"Happens all the time. Lemme guess, you wanna party with Nikki?"

"No, I wish to hire Candy."

"Candy?" Quinn asked, his voice conveying mild disgust. "Well, it takes all kinds. $500 for a night."

"Fine." Vincent said through clenched teeth.

"What time you want her there?"

"Eleven?" Vincent thought that would leave enough for the wedding and to clean up this place a little. Maybe put a bottle to wine to chill.

"She'll see you at eleven. Thank you for your business, Mr. Keller."

"Thanks." Vincent hung up the phone, feeling strangely ashamed of himself. For just a moment, he wished that he and Candy could have met in a more normal way.

_No. Not possible. Because how could you have met her at a party? You never go to parties. You threw this for Evan, not for you. And if she'd walked down the street and you'd seen her, your mind would have been on other things. Business._

He smiled, remembering. Remembering the moment when he'd walked into the room in time to have her bra flung at him, and he'd gotten a look at those breasts.

She'd caught his eye, all right, in a way no other woman ever had. And then she had argued with him, challenged him, and he'd found that he had like it. Women usually became sweetly submissive around him. Candy has been so different. Challenge could have been her middle name. Something about her just  _PULLED_  to him.

He couldn't stop thinking about last night, thinking about the way she'd dared him to kiss her.

_Some dare!_

The moment his had come down over hers, he had been lost.

Vincent poured himself a cup of coffee, black, and leaned against the kitchen counter. He took a sip, his mind working, plotting every step.

He took another sip of coffee. He'd see Candy tonight, and it couldn't be too soon.

* * *

"Cat?"

Catherine turned at the sound of her friend's voice and stopped drying her hair with a towel. She had already dressed in sweat clothes. Halfway through her shower, she realized she wouldn't be getting any sleep.

Heather sat up in her bed, and Catherine could see that she'd had a restless night.

_Not as restless as mine, but then again, whose was?_

Catherine looked at her best friend and said, "Guess what? You are getting married today."

Heather stared skeptically at Catherine. "Am I?"

Cat smiled. "You are."

Heather started tearing. "I AM?"

Cat started to beam. "You  _ARE_!"

Heather jumped out of bed, wrapped herself around Cat, and started to cry simultaneously. "You are the  _BEST_  friend anyone could ever have." She squeezed Cat tighter.

"Hey, don't mention it." Catherine hugged her friend back. She really wanted Heather to be happy, and if Evan was the man to make her happy, then that was that.

"Cat?" Heather whispered.

"What?"

"I'm getting  _MARRIED_!" She let go of Cat and stood up, then twirled and ran to the closet, throwing open the door and staring at the white fantasy of a dress that hung there.

"Yeah, you are." On a whim, Catherine jumped up on the double bed and began to bounce up and down. Heather laughed, then jumped up on the bed, and the two of them bounced up and down, laughing and laughing, until Heather's mother came in and asked them what they were doing.

"Getting ready for a wedding," Heather answered, her face glowing.

"And blowing off some nervous energy," Cat added.

Vanessa, Heather's mother, tried to look stern, but her gentle face broke into a smile.

"I know the kind of mischief you two can get into. Now Heather, you've got to eat something, and then we'll start getting you ready. Catherine, you come with me, too."

"Pancakes?" Cat asked hopefully. She'd always loved meals with Heather's large, boisterous family, so different from her own.

"I think that can be arranged."

While Heather followed her mother down the stairs, the two of them arm in arm, Cat went back to the bathroom and hung up the damp towel she'd been drying her hair with. Her gaze fell on the outfit she'd been wearing the night before. With quick movements, she put everything in its place. As she secured the blond wig onto a wig stand in the closet, she took one last look at the crucial element in her disguise. Except for the Mardi Gras mask that she'd left in Vincent's den, of course.

"So long, Candy," she whispered. "You were a total blast."


	7. The Wedding

Riding in the limo on the way to the church, Catherine stared out of the window and thought of Vincent Keller.

He would be at the wedding. As Evan's best man, he'd be up at the front of the church. He was responsible for the wedding rings. But he couldn't possibly recognize her. The short blond hair was no longer on her head. Her chestnut hair had been styled in an elegant twist, with tiny, pale pink rosebuds twined in her hair. Her makeup was fresh and light, in keeping with what a maid of honor should look like; no Cleopatra kohl-lined eyes for her, no sir. And the bright, shiny red lipstick had been replaced by a deep pink gloss.

Her dress couldn't have been more different. No more black. The dress that she wore now was a gorgeous silver blue silk that set off her brown hair perfectly. The empire style suited Catherine's slender body; she felt like a heroine in a romance novel.

Heather looked like a princess, the full white skirt of her wedding dress billowing out around her legs. She had chosen a halter-style beaded bodice and a multi-layered tulle skirt. She wore her mother's veil and a sparkling tiara completed the fairy tale look.

Her mother also provided the something blue by the way of stunning sapphire earrings. The something new was tiara she adored. The something old, her brothers teased, was her father walking her down the aisle. But Heather also wore her great-grandmother's bracelet. The borrowed was her mother's veil.

So everything was covered.

The limo turned a corner, and Cat clasped her hands tightly together. Evan and his family had gone on ahead as everyone knew it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. Cat was is the limo with Heather, her mother and father, and Heather's five year old niece, Melissa, who was going to be the flower girl.

Catherine tried to keep her mind on the wedding, not on Vincent.

Even though she missed the rehearsal dinner, Cat knew what to do, so she was confident.

Heather, holding on to her father's arm, was absolutely radiant. Happiness seemed to shine off of her, and in that instant Cat was glad she'd gone to the bachelor party.

But another, disquieting thought had entered her head.

It had been an amazingly spectacular, sensual night for her. If a girl ever had fantasies about how to lose her virginity, then Vincent Keller would be at the top of her list. It had been perfect.

Perfect.

She and Vincent had just . . . . fit. Clicked. Chemistry, destiny, whatever you called it. There hadn't been any awkward moments, no hesitations. It had just . . . flowed. Beautifully. Incredible, considering it had been her first time. She wasn't naive enough to think that every woman's first time was even close to as good as hers had been.

Vincent had made it wonderful for her. But now, the morning after, doubts began to creep in. And Cat wondered if he had that kind of chemistry with every woman. Was what they'd shared last night something unique, or was it sensual business as usual for him?

She didn't have a clue.

Catherine bit the inside of her lip and wondered if he'd had any idea that she was a virgin. The den had been fairly dark, she'd been self-conscious about the noises she'd been making until Vincent had laughed softly and told her to make all the noise she wanted; the door was closed, and he loved the noises she made.

She'd never had many hang-ups about her body, but she certainly hadn't been planning on losing her virginity last night. She'd wanted to hold out for that special someone.

 _Vincent was special,_  a tiny voice nagged.

She couldn't deny that.

 _Or could she?_  That other, doubtful little voice returned with a vengeance.

The limousine turned into the church parking lot, and Cat was jarred out of her thoughts when Heather's mother spoke to her. Cat took a quick glance outside the tinted window, looking for Vincent.

Nothing. He was probably inside already.

"Cat? We're here."

"Oh. Yes." And then she gathered her skirt, wrapped in her dark blue, hooded, velvet cloak more tightly around her against the chill and the light snow that started up again, and stepped out of the limousine and into the church parking lot.

* * *

Vincent patted his pocket, triple checking to make sure that he still had the rings. After all, as best man, he had his responsibilities. But his mind wasn't really on the wedding. His mind was on this evening. He'd arranged for Candy to come by his house at eleven, confident that by that time he'd have been able to gracefully leave the reception.

She'd make him feel so alive. More so than he'd felt in years. She made him feel like he had alive but unfeeling for the last thousand years. He'd taken a lot of ribbing from J.T. over the last few years, but he had never really understood what his friend was driving at . . . until Candy had rocked his world. Now he had absolutely no desire to show up at the office, let alone work.

The only thing on his mind was Candy.

All he wanted to do was sit and talk with her. Try to make sense of what happened between them last night. Find out who she was and what she wanted out of life.

Oh, he  _lies!_

He wanted to hit the sheets with her again with a ferocity he couldn't believe. He wanted to get her naked and flat on her back in mere seconds and have a repeat of the night before. But even more than that, he wanted to make sure that he would see her again, so he would do anything she wanted in order not to scare her off.

She utterly fascinated him. And all the cards were in her hands.

The crazy thing was, he didn't even mind. And for a control freak like him, that astounded him.

Vincent came back to the present with a blink, and a grin. Normally he was rather uncomfortable at weddings, but this one was. . . .special. He hadn't been in such a good mood in months.

"How you holding up?" he whispered to Evan.

"Fine." Evan tugged at the neck of his shirt. "I just wish this whole thing would get started. Let's get this show on the road."

 _Do I know that feeling._  Vincent grinned, then straightened up imperceptibly as the organist began to play the prerequisite "Wedding March".

By tonight, he will be with Candy again. Or he would know why not.

* * *

"You look gorgeous," Catherine whispered to Heather, her eyes starting to fill.

"No crying," Heather whispered back. "You'll wreck you mascara."

Cat couldn't believe how cool and composed her friend was now that the moment was here. She supposed it was the absolute confidence Heather had in Evan after Cat had given her an accurate account of the bachelor party.

Well, not quite all of it.

"All right, Melissa," Cat whispered to Heather's five year old niece."It's time to strut your stuff!"

The little girl smiled up at her, absolutely adorable in a pinafore style dress. The little girl walked carefully down the aisle, her small hand reaching into the basket as she starts to carefully scatter the rose petals.

Heather's three bridesmaids, also dressed in silvery blue silk, got into line and each slowly began their measured walk down that long aisle as Cat made some last minute adjustments to Heather's tulle skirt.

"You look so incredible," she whispered to her friend.

"Off you go," said Heather's father, as he touched Cat's arm. "You look beautiful, Catherine."

"So do you," she whispered back to the older man, so filled with happiness and totally in the moment. The music swelled, she put one foot in front of the other, and started down the aisle with measured steps.

Heather's wedding had officially begun.

* * *

Vincent, keeping an eye on Evan, had to grin when he saw Melissa coming down the aisle so carefully, a solemn look on her face as she scattered the rose petals. The kid was absolutely adorable.

Then the first bridesmaid, then the second, and then the third, and he wondered what made bridesmaids' dresses so unattractive on most women. This particular style was totally unforgiving, as the silk clung to every curve.

And then . . . and then . . . and incredibly beautiful woman swathed in silk, walking in measured steps. She had so much vibrant energy that it seem to Vincent she was lit up like Christmas tree. Her hazel eyes sparkled with intense happiness and energy.

Strangely enough, even after the wild and totally satisfying night he'd shared with Candy, he felt himself attracted to her. And Vincent decided that he really had been working way too hard, if this was the way he felt when he allowed himself to relax and have a good time.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

_God, she is a stunner!_

But more than that, something about her seemed vaguely familiar.

* * *

Catherine was two-thirds of the way to the altar when she glanced up at saw Vincent. Her heart sped up. He was standing next to Evan, looking resplendent in a tuxedo, absolutely gorgeous . . . and looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face, as if trying to place her.

_Uh-oh._

Could he possibly know who she was? That expression on his face unnerved her, and all of a sudden she felt totally exposed, as if Vincent somehow had x-ray vision and could see her brown hair and shear makeup to the woman with the blond wig and makeup. To the woman with the mask who had danced and danced and danced, and had smart-mouthed him at every turn.

For one awful moment, Cat thought she was going to ruin her best friend's wedding.

She caught Vincent's eye and smiled, trying desperately to look innocent, and was rewarded by a look of complete and utter puzzlement on his handsome face.

_Gotcha._

Still, it took every ounce of control she had to keep her face serene and composed, to look at him as if she'd never seen him before.

Then she kept her attention off him as she reached the altar and positioned herself to the side of where the bride would stand. Heather came down the aisle on her father's arm, glowing with love and basking in the attention of close friends and family, and thankfully, all eyes, including Vincent's were focused on the bride.

When Heather reached Evan's side, she turned to Catherine, handed her the bouquet, and moved closer to Evan, her face filled with absolute love and trust in him.

Cat's eyes filled; her heart felt as if it were going to choke her, the emotion filling her was so intense.

She could sense someone's eyes on her, and glancing over, she saw Vincent's still looking at her intensely, like Lois Lane snooping around after Clark Kent.

She'd fix him. Nothing was going to ruin this day.

Cat gave him a watery, teary, emotional smile, then glanced down. Shy, demure. That was the image to go for, the exact opposite of last night.

The ceremony began, as the minister said the age old words that would bind a man and a woman together.

And like a moth to a flame, Catherine kept sneaking glances at Vincent.

He was gorgeous.

Life was so unfair. If life were fair, Vincent wouldn't have been right in her freaking field of vision. Or at least, he would have had a zit.

But, no. Gorgeous. In her face. Right in front of her. Her knees turned to water at the thought of the two of them walking down the aisle together, in reverse, of course. How strangely appropriate. But the thought of touching him again. . . .

_You can do this, you can do this. . ._

She kept repeating this in her head, like a mantra, as she watched the wedding, trying to keep her eyes off Vincent. Impossible. He was deadly, he was yummy, she kept remembering all the things they'd done, those talented lips, those sure hands, that . . .

She couldn't believe she was having a full blown in Technicolor sexual fantasy in the middle of her best friend's wedding!

Then the organ music jarred her out of her thoughts, and Catherine realized Heather was kissing Evan, and everyone was looking at the newlyweds.

Everyone except Vincent Keller, of course, whose attention was fixated directly on her. Cat tried not to squirm, but his gaze felt like one of those laser sights in an action movie.

 _What is wrong with that man?_  She looked nothing like Candy; brown hair versus blond, demure versus blatant sexuality. How could the man have mixed up the two of them? He had to have some sort of personal radar where she was concerned.

_Damn Vincent Keller!_

Though she liked that fact that he was no dummy, this whole deception was going to be trickier than she'd thought.

* * *

As Evan and Heather started down the aisle, Vincent realized that he was about to get up close and personal with the maid of honor as they walked down the aisle. What had Evan said her name was?

Catherine something or other, from San Francisco.

She looked familiar, but he just couldn't place her. He dug his nails into his palms in an attempt to regain some sort of mental clarity, and to banish any sleepiness. After his all-night marathon with Candy last night. . . .

_Candy? No. Impossible. And yet. . . something about her eyes. That damn twinkle._

Then he was standing next to her, offering her his arm, noticing the way the slightest of blushes rose up from her bodice into her neck.

This woman was a total innocent, not an exotic dancer.

_And yet. . ._

"Great wedding," he murmured, for her ears alone.

"Yes," she whispered, and Vincent had the oddest feeling. He suddenly flashed back to his den, the dimly lit room, as he reached for Candy beneath the blanket, pulling her on top of him so he could see her as she straddled him. He'd placed his hands firmly around her waist, then moved his thumbs so they could slide down and caress that most sensitive part of her.

"Yes!" she'd whispered. "YES!"

Vincent decided he was going insane, seeing Candy in everyone. Because this woman couldn't be further in looks and temperament from the mystery woman of the night before. Deep chestnut, while Candy had platinum hair; fragile and shy, while Candy had been brazen and sexually adventurous, utterly fearless.

Then they were caught up in a whirl of people in the church's vestibule, and she excused herself. He watched her move through the crowd, then decided he needed to see Candy again. BAD.

Because he was seeing her in every woman he met.


	8. The Limousine

_That was too close. Way too close._

Catherine deliberately stayed far away from Vincent, talking with one of Heather's aunts. Aunt Arlene was telling her all about how she'd used homeopathic medicine to cure her cat of a digestive disorder, and Cat was actually quite interested. Her grandfather was always interested in alternative medicine.

_Anything to keep my mind off of Vincent._

She hadn't been able to stay away from him during photographs. Evan and Heather had hired an extremely competent photographer, and a videographer. He has been taping the vows, but directly after the ceremony, the photographer had insisted that they pose for a number of formal portraits.

Heather had also hired a makeup artist, so that everyone would look great in the pictures. Cat had stood patiently while the young woman powdered her nose, then tried not to flinch when someone suggested, "We really should get a picture of the best man and the maid of honor. Wouldn't that be  _cute_?"

Catherine had smiled and smiled through countless pictures until she swore her face was about to fall off, and then finally escaped and moved as far away from Vincent Keller as possible. Unobtrusively, of course.

But she couldn't stop looking at him. Then again, neither could any other single woman at the wedding. Hell, there were a fair few woman who where happily married staring dreamy-eyed at him. She knew that Heather told her a long time ago that Evan's best friend was smart, loaded, and gorgeous. Now Cat was wishing that she had paid attention.

She glanced over in his direction and noticed that two of the bridesmaids hovered around him. And Vincent seemed gracious and charming with both of them. Cat felt her self-confidence drop several notches. It was true; he had this effect on all females, not just with her. They'd fit together so well, had such vibrant chemistry together, because Vincent would have intense chemistry with a tree stump.

She'd been nothing special to him after all.

Feeling shaky, determined not to cry, she turned her attention back to Auntie Arlene.

* * *

Now he knew he had it bad, because none of these women could hold a candle to Candy. It wasn't that they were boring; there was nothing wrong with them.

They just weren't Candy.

He glanced over at Catherine. It was the damnedest thing; she'd seemed so vibrant before, and now it seems like some inner light had gone out.

_And why are you concerned with Catherine when you have Candy coming over tonight?_

Well, he'd have to be a real cad not to notice Catherine what's-her-name's change of emotion. Women were complete mysteries to Vincent, and he liked it that way. But he tried to pay attention, to keep up with the program. He tried to notice the little details, and the details surrounding Catherine were that she seemed exhausted.

She'd flown in last night, after the rehearsal dinner. Heather mentioned something about a performance she had to do, and as she lived somewhere in California, Vincent wondered if she were some sort of actress. And, of course, flying during the holidays was the worst. On top of that, she'd lost time flying east, and changing time zones could be exhausting.

But it seemed more than that.

Maybe she was upset that her best friend was married and she was still single. That sounded like the way a woman might be feeling at a wedding. Maybe it had all hit her the final moments of the ceremony. Vincent studied her, the dark hair, the slender body. She didn't have to worry. She was sparkly enough and pretty enough that she wouldn't be single for long. Or if she was, it would be her choice.

* * *

Catherine decided to make a conscious choice.

Okay, so Vincent had chemistry with everyone. Fine. But she'd chosen to throw caution to the wind and have wild sex with him. She'd made that decision. So starting right now, she was not going to regret that decision or beat herself up for it. She was going to accept it, realize that she'd had a night of passion that most women spent their entire lives dreaming for, and move on.

_Move on. Yeah, right. That was the hard part._

_You can get through the rest of this wedding. You are calm, collected. You know what you are capable of._

Vanessa came up behind her and put a supportive hand on her back.

"Catherine, we thought you and Vincent could ride over to the reception with Evan and Heather. Would that be all right?"

_In a limo. With Vincent. That close. Sure._

She nodded her head."Should we leave now?"

Vanessa smiled. "I think the photographer's gotten all the pictures she wants. But they still want to take candids at the reception. And there's the video, of course. Remind Heather to powder her nose, would you?"

Heather sat in Evan's lap the entire way over, both of them kissing each other, all over like two dogs that had just discovered rare prime rib. And Cat could sympathize, because Heather had decided to wait until her wedding night to have sex.

"Are you alright?" Vincent asked her.

His concern touched her.

"Just a little tired. I flew in yesterday and didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"I know what you mean. Neither did I."

Her mind went into overdrive, her imagination going down a darkly sexual path.

She pulled it up short.

"How do you like New York?" he said, and she could tell he was trying to make polite conversation as neither of them wanted to look at the newlyweds.

"I grew up here," she said. "It's a lovely area."

_Lovely. God, I sound so boring._

She decided to tweak him a little, mad at him that he should have such a powerful chemistry with the entire female population. She wanted it to be just between the two of them.

"How was the big bachelor party?"

He stared at her for a long moment, and for one awful instant, she thought she'd given herself away.

"It was actually quite wonderful." He said softly, and the tone of his voice seemed filled with awe. Vincent hesitated, then said, "I'm still kind of getting over it. It was one of the. . . no, it was the most wonderful night of my life."

Her throat started to close.

"How so?" she managed to croak out.

He seemed suddenly surprised that he'd revealed so much to her, as if he hadn't meant to say what he said.

"You're a very easy woman to talk to."

"I've been told I'm a good listener."

"Hmmm." He stared out the window for a second, then glanced up at her.

"Maybe I could use a woman's opinion. Would you mind?"

_Do I really have a choice?_

"Not at all."

"I met this dancer. She intrigued me. We ended up. . ." He seemed to catch himself as he looked down at her. He stopped.

"You inserted Tab A into Slot B."

"How did you know?"

"Some stories are obvious."

Vincent considered this. "I've been working so hard. I tend to keep my nose to the grindstone, and this girl, she. . . she just set me free."

Cat swallowed against the nervous tightness in her throat. "And did you like feeling this way?"

"Yes."

"So, call her up."

"I did."

" _What?"_

He glanced down at her.

_Think fast Cat, think fast._

"Sorry, just surprised. She gave you her number then?"

"No, I called the company she works for. They're sending her over at eleven."

"I see."

"I just. . . I want her to know that it was more than just sex. I am not sure what it is, but it was more than just. . . that."

"But, and excuse me for saying this, but you seem to be the sort of man who could have a great time with any number of women. You know. . . that chemistry thing."

He shook his head. "Not like this."

She smiled and leaned toward him, touching his arm.

_Tell him, tell him who you are. And then you can. . . then you can wreck Heather's marriage, that's what you can do._

How would she ever be able to explain to Vincent what she'd been doing at the party arranged for Evan?

There was no way for either of the men to view it as anything other than an enormous betrayal.

Vincent grinned down at her. "So, any last words of advice for me?"

"Next time you host a bachelor party, consider something a little less dangerous, like bungee-jumping, or sky-diving. Or maybe fire-walking."

He laughed.


	9. The Toast

As the four of them walked into the reception hall, Catherine glanced at the enormous floor-to-ceiling Christmas fir tree in the foyer, decorated with twinkling lights and dazzling, hand-blown glass ornaments. Farther inside, in the spacious ballroom, she would see what Heather, Vanessa, and the wedding planner had been up to.

Right now, she was horribly conscious of Vincent, right next to her. Their arms were touching because he'd graciously offered his arm as they'd left the limo, and she'd taken it, knowing that not to do so would probably arouse suspicion. Feeling the hard muscles in his arm beneath his suit jacket had been a strange sort of torture, as she'd remembered what those muscular arms had been capable of. But even beyond those thoughts, all she could think about as she carefully maneuvered through the snow, was what he'd revealed in the limo.

So it had been special, as special as she'd thought it had been. The thought thrilled her, until she realized she could never reveal the fact that she was Candy. That it was her that danced on the family room table. It was her that had gone back to his den, dared him to kiss her, and ended up naked in his arms. She couldn't betray her best friend and start her wedding off on that kind of note.

But she kind of suspected Vincent would get the fact that something was up when he opens his door tonight and meets the real Candy. Cat wondered what Candy actually looked like. But Vincent would know, for sure, that the dancer who'd had food poisoning wasn't the Candy he'd spent the night with.

What then?

It wasn't that she thought she'd do anything crazy. Strangely enough, Catherine found herself veering back and forth between telling him and remaining silent. She wasn't even sure how mad he'd be at her, though she was sure he'd be at least slightly annoyed. There was even a chance he might really laugh at the entire incident.

Maybe.

It was just that it was so hard for her to walk away from him after the intimate night they'd shared. Yet there was another part of her, the chicken part of her that came to relationships, that wanted to do just that. And if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she didn't even know this man. And yet. . . . she did.

She turned to Heather. "Your mom wanted me to remind you to powder your nose before the photographers arrive."

Heather was busily kissing Evan.

Catherine cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable. She realized that a part of her wanted to haul off and kiss the hell out of Vincent. He was simply temptation in a tux. Testosterone on the hoof. How ironic, that she had the man of her wildest sexual dreams right next to her, and she couldn't do anything about it.

"Ah, young love," Vincent whispered cynically.

Maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought.

"You don't believe in love?" she asked.

"Let's just say I have a healthy respect for its limitations."

_Limitations? Oh, great. Not only can I never blow my cover, I had to hook up with Mr. Cynic. Mr. Cynic with great moves, but a cynic nonetheless._

"What about you dancer?" Catherine regretted the words the minute they left her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd said them.

"Candy?"

"Yes," she said, and a part of her couldn't believe she was stubbornly continuing this train of thought. It was sheer suicide if he connected her to Candy the dancer.

Vincent laughed. "Oh, no. Don't go trying to pretty this up and make it all romantic. I know what it was, and even knowing was it was, it was pretty incredible."

So Mr. Cynic didn't believe in love. Interesting. And Cat found she wanted to tweak him again. She just couldn't resist. "And what exactly was it?"

"The single best physical experience of my entire life. Just incredible."

_Hot damn! Well, me too. But then again, what do I have to compare it to?_

She considered this, and for some strange reason, she felt proud of herself. But she still could believe that they had a special connection.

"But could . . . could the best sex of your life lead to something else?"

_You are playing with fire._

He gazed down at her, a speculative gleam in his piercing blue eyes.

"You want to think so, don't you?" She caught her breath as he took her chin in his hand, his touch so gentle. Studying her face, he said, "Catherine, find yourself a good man. Someone who shares all you dreams. You need that sort of person, because the real world is a very rough place."

She could feel her jaw set. "The real world is beautiful, full of wonder, and there's usually a surprise around every corner."

He smiled, dropped his hand. "You believe that?"

"I know that. Look at what happened with Candy. I believe that with all my heart." For some reason, she felt it was absolutely imperative that she get through to this man. Even more important than revealing who she really was and what they'd experienced together.

Vincent was silent for a long moment, looking down at her. "Good for you," he said softly, with no trace of cynicism or mockery. And to Cat, he suddenly looked unbearably tired.

 _He needs me._  The thought hit her hard, a gut feeling, a rush of intuition. She reached for his arm, ready to confess, when Vincent turned to her and said, "I see guests are staring to file in, we'd better help Evan and Heather get that receiving line together."

The moment, the instant she would have confessed, was gone. Mutely, she nodded her head.

She'd tell him later.

Later, she lost her nerve.

* * *

_There's something about her. . . . ._

Vincent just couldn't place what it was.

The weirdest thing was, when he was with Catherine, he didn't even think about Candy. Which was strange, because he was seeing the dancer tonight.

But there was something about Catherine that challenged him.

He was pretty sure she had no idea who he was or what he did. That, in and of itself, was refreshing.

But something was bothering her, and it was more than watching her best friend get married. Besides, she didn't seem like the type who rained on another's parade.

Knowing that he could toast the bride and groom at any point during dinner, Vincent stood, then picked up his champagne flute. His table quieted instantly, and the silence spread to all the other tables until all five hundred guests were silent and looking at him.

"I've known Evan since we were at military school together," Vincent began. "He's been a good friend to me for many years, and I think that I speak for all of us in saying that we're so happy for your happiness, Evan."

Evan smiled, then reached over and kissed his bride on the cheek. Heather just glowed.

"I wish you both the best that life has to offer," Vincent continued; then he grinned. "And a very happy honeymoon in the Bahamas."

"Yeah!" yelled a male voice from the back tables.

"You tell him, Vincent!"

"Great party, bud!"

People were laughing, in a partying mood. As Vincent sat back down, he caught Catherine's eye and winked.

* * *

_Jesus Christ, he knows. . . . ._

_Stop being paranoid. He's merely letting you know that you might want to give a little toast or something._

She stood up, her legs shaky. She'd had no idea how sitting next to Vincent would affect her, but his mere presence seemed to . . . rile her up.

All eyes were turned to her as she raised her champagne flute.

"I love you, Heather," she said simply, looking at her best friend. Tears welled up in Heather's eyes, and Catherine had to fight her emotions to keep her own tears from spilling over. She glanced away from her friend and out over the sea of people.

"We used to dream about our weddings all the time, and pin lace tablecloths over our heads and parade around. But I don't think either of us could have dreamed up anything as exquisite as today has been."

Murmurs of approval swept the large ballroom.

"You have a great man in Evan, Heather," she said. "I know that." For an instant, the two women's eyes met, and the look that passed between them acknowledged what had transpired last night. "You're going to have a great marriage, and I'm sure everyone else in this room is, as well. To the bride and groom!"

"To the bride and groom!" echoed throughout the ballroom, and Catherine took a sip of her champagne, then sat down next to Vincent.

"Very nice," he said.

"Yours too."

Moments lapsed, and silence grew between them.

"How about a little game?" she said, remembering her conversation with J.T. the other night.

"What?"

"Truth or Dare," she whispered.

That got his attention. Those dark eyes honed in on her like a tracking beam, and for a moment, just a moment, she thought she'd blown her cover. Then sanity returned. She looked nothing like Candy of last night. He'd never suspect.

"Truth," she said quietly.

He nodded his head.

"How do you really feel about Evan getting married?"

He hesitated.

"Truth," she said. "The truth."

"Strange," he finally admitted. "As if he's found something that. . . . . . .I don't think I'll find in this lifetime."

She knew enough not to push him further.

"Now you," he said, never taking his eyes off her.

"Fine."

"Dare."

"You got it," she said.

"Dance with me when the music starts."

"I have to; you're the best man, and I'm the maid of honor. . ."

"No, I mean a real dance. The first slow one. The entire dance."

That would be sheer sensual torture, but he'd told her the truth, so she had to match him with a dare.

"Fine."

* * *

Dinner had been quietly taken away, and now the band was assembling itself on the area just off the large dance floor.

"Just remember the dare. " Vincent whispered to Caterine.

He had to be going completely insane. She reminded him of Candy.

Impossible. Because there was one quality that Catherine almost radiated, and that was innocence. And Candy had been far from innocent.

The two women were as different as night and day. And yet. . . . . . .

* * *

Catherine's throat tightened as she watched Evan lead Heather onto the empty dance floor to the beginning strains of "Someone to Watch Over Me." They began their dance, all eyes on them.

She could sense Vincent standing next to her.

"Please don't say anything to ruin the moment," she whispered.

"Me? Never."

She knew he was genuinely happy for his friend.

As Heather left Evan's arms for her father's, and Evan danced with his mother, Catherine walked towards the dance floor, her arm through Vincent's.

"Remember," he whispered as they stepped onto the dance floor. "You've promised me an entire other dance."

"I know."

And then she felt his arms close around her, and they felt so  _right_. She leaned against him and discovered that he was just as good at dancing as he was at other one-on-one activities. They moved to the music as if they'd been dancing together for years.

And she knew that this, this physical contact, this dancing, was what might give them away.

Before she could worry further, she felt a masculine tap on her shoulder. Turning, she recognized one of the men from the party the night before. He gave Vincent a look that seemed to say,  _May I?_ and while Catherine noticed with a thrill that Vincent didn't seem happy relinquishing her, he let her go without a struggle.

She turned to her new partner and couldn't help noticing how his hands just didn't feel right touching her.

* * *

Vincent stood on the sidelines, watching Catherine dance with his friend Clancy.

Something was not right.

Something had happened when he'd put his arms around her. He'd never touched this woman in his entire life before today, yet when he'd put his arms around her and started to dance with her, he'd felt as if he were coming home.

Something was up. He sensed he didn't have all the facts. It was something he wasn't quite aware of, but that sixth sense that had served him so well in business was alerting him.

He stood to the side of the dance floor, watching her.

* * *

Once the dance with Clancy had ended, Catherine remembered another promise she'd made to Heather, one she would have no trouble keeping.

Catherine had promised to dance with Heather's oldest nephew, Hunter. Catherine had no trouble locating him, standing with a group of his peers.

"Hi," she said, coming up to the young man. "Hunter?"

He peered at her suspiciously, and she suddenly knew that this young man had been the butt of a joke more often than he would have liked.

"Yeah," he said cautiously, and she caught the glint of braces.

"I'm Cat, Aunt Heather's friend. Would you like to dance?" She held out her hand and he took it, cautiously.

"Yeah!" He looked like he couldn't believe she'd asked him.

"Fast or slow?"

He grinned down at her, and she saw the faint blush stain his cheekbones.

"Let's go for a fast one!"

* * *

 _Very nice_ , thought Vincent as he watched Catherine approach Hunter. He knew the kid was painfully shy, and he grudgingly had to admire Catherine for bringing him out.

The band broke into a rendition of "White Wedding" and he watched as Hunter led Catherineout onto the dance floor. They began to dance, and Vincent had to admit that Hunter wasn't bad.

But Catherine was stunning.

She certainly knew her way around the dance floor. He watched her body move, sway to the music, her laughter and enjoyment contagious. A tendril of luminous brown hair had escaped her upswept hairstyle, and the slight messiness of it suited her. She laughed, her head going back, and one of the small rosebuds woven into her hair fell to that dance floor.

Vincent narrowed his eyes.

Something seemed very familiar. He felt as if something was starting to click into place, just on the edge of his consciousness.

The floor around the two dancers started to clear as their moves became more elaborate and intricate and people stopped dancing to watch. Who would have thought that Hunter loved to dance or was so good at it? As Vincent got a much better view of the two of them, all the emotions inside him stilled.

_Catherine. . .Candy. . .Catherine. . .Candy. . ._

He didn't know how. He didn't know why. He only knew that the woman he spent the night with and had the most incredible sex of his life was the same woman who was out on that dance floor, having a wild time with Heather's nephew.

Vincent suddenly knew that the woman Zeke would be sending over would not be the same woman he'd been with last night.

He'd just found Candy.

 


	10. The Dance

Vincent let her dance three more songs with Hunter, then the flushed and triumphant teenager went back to his group with Catherine on his arm. And he knew that Hunter's social stock just went up.

_Good for Catherine. And Candy._

As he'd watched them dance together, he'd thought furiously. What had Catherine been doing there last night? If what Heather told Evan was true, then she'd only flown in that evening after the rehearsal. What had she been up to while crashing the party?

And why had she taken the risk of spending the night with him?

_And why can't I take my eyes off of her?_

It made no sense. Catherine seemed so innocent, so inexperienced, for lack of a better term. The Candy he had known had been sultry and sophisticated, and once they'd gotten naked. . .

Well, it was time he found out exactly what she was up to.

The sounds of a slow dance filled the air, and he went in search of Catherine, Candy, the dancer. Whatever she wanted to call herself, he had something to settle with her.

Catherine was still talking to Hunter and his group of friends when she felt a hand lightly touch her back. She didn't even need to turn around to know that it was Vincent.

"Thanks for the dance!" Hunter said, and she impulsively gave him a hug.

"You had some pretty great moves out there yourself. Save another one for me before tonight is over?"

Hunter grinned and nodded.

Then she turned to Vincent. And instantly, she felt uncomfortable with the way he was studying her.

"You promised me a dance," he said, and thought his tone was pleasant enough, there was something behind it.

_You're being paranoid!_

"So I did," she said brightly. "Let's get down to it!"

* * *

_Let's get down to it!_

Vincent remembered the last time she'd said those words, as she'd lounged back on the fur rug in his den. And he also remembered that incredible, incendiary chemistry between them. It was all he could do to not haul her off in his arms and kiss her senseless, right here on the dance floor.

And he was a man who had always prided himself on his control.

 _What a total laugh._  His so-called control was going up in flames. How J.T. would laugh if he had any idea of what was going on right now.

How could you desire a woman and be pissed off at her at the same time? What kind of game was she playing with him? Why did a part of him really want to laugh, and another part of him want to be annoyed?

And how was he going to get her to admit that she was his Candy, his dancer?

_His?_

This was going to be a total challenge . . . and he found that he liked the idea. A lot.

* * *

He led her out on to the packed dance floor. With the slower music and more intimate dancing style, many of the older guests were now out on the dance floor with their partners. Catherine eased herself into Vincent's arms and once again had the strange feeling of coming home.

They danced in silence for a minute or so before she felt his hand smoothing it way down her waist, then resting on her right buttock. The dance floor was so crowded she doubted anyone noticed. But she did.

And it felt wonderful.

Stepping away slightly, feigning surprise, she glanced up at his face.

"What do you think you are doing?"

He grinned down at her. "Just taking a stroll through your garden."

"What?"

He moved so that his lips brushed her ear. "Your rose garden. The tattoo. Remember? I do."

Before she could help herself, she flashed back to the den, the flickering light from the fireplace, and the butterflies in her stomach as Vincent's lips brushed against the tiny tattoo on her buttock.

_He knows._

She had no idea how he'd found out, but he knew who she was.

"I remember thinking you have the most perfect ass," he whispered, for her ears alone. "Such a turn-on."

Her body stiffened, but before she could pull away, he eased her closer.

"Hello, Candy," he whispered in her ear. "Now, before you try to escape, I want to ask you, why you were at the bachelor party last night pretending to be a stripper?"

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"Wasn't."

"Were."

"Suppose I was? Can't you see how ludicrous it sounds? What would I be doing there?" Gaining both confidence and momentum, Catherine decided to elaborate. "I'd just flown in from San Francisco, I was absolutely exhausted, and I hate flying over the holidays, so the first thing I'm going to do is sneak over to your house, dress up as a stripper, got to Evan's bachelor party and rock out? I think not!"

"You would if Heather asked you to. You're ruthless when it comes to the people you love. That's just the kind of friend you are. The same way you danced with Hunter."

One dance segued into the next, and they didn't even notice, they were so busy arguing.

"Vincent, just for arguments sake, why would Heather want me to do something like that?"

He tightened his grip on her waist. "Because she caught her last fiancé in bed with an old girlfriend, and, oh, I don't know, maybe she wanted to be absolutely sure she could trust Evan before she married him."

She swallowed. "Evan told you that?" She hated the fact that her voice seemed to come out in a squeak. Squeaking did not project confidence.

"He told me he was having a hard time getting Heather to trust him because of what that other jerk had done to her."

"Oh." She considered this. Vincent was awfully good at putting all the pieces together. Her excuses were running out.

He pulled her closer to him. "Catherine, I have a way we can solve this once and for all," he whispered in her ear. "We go to one of the bathrooms, into one of the stalls. You lift up your dress; show me your right buttock. No rose, I lose. If there's a rose on that cute little butt, I win. Deal?"

She stared at him. She had never met a man like Vincent Keller, and she suddenly realized he would not let the matter rest.

Well, the best offense is a good defense.

"I'm going to get into a bathroom stall with you, a total stranger. . ."

"Not so total after last night. . ."

"And lift my dress up? You've GOT to be kidding."

"Ha, I knew it! You're Candy!"

"And YOU'RE way out of line!" And with that, she wrenched herself out of his arms and marched off the dance floor.

Vincent watched her go, then slowly grinned. He did so love a challenge.

"What a woman!"

* * *

"Look," Catherine whispered to Heather after the cake cutting, searching for an excuse to leave and avoid Vincent, "I'm going to have to race out of here pretty soon, so have a wonderful honeymoon . . ."

"I saw you and Vincent arguing. Is everything OK?"

_Peachy._

"Sure. We were just having a spirited debate. He's got quite a few interesting theories."

"He's a neat guy. You know, he was the one who finally convinced me I should take a chance on Evan and trust him."

_Mr. Cynic?_

"He did?"

"Yeah. He told me that he'd never seen Evan as crazy about a woman as he was with me, and that I should marry him and put him out of his misery."

"Wow."

"You know," Heather whispered, "it was kind of a fantasy of mine that you and Vincent would get together and . . ."

_If you only knew how together we got._

"Nope. Not my type."

"Oh." Heather was clearly disappointed.

"Anyway, I've got to run, but I'll call you once you and Evan get back from the Bahamas and we'll talk then."

"Okay."

Cat hugged and kissed her friend. "One last favor?"

"Anything," Heather said.

"Just don't throw the bouquet anywhere near me, all right?"

Of course, Heather threw the wedding bouquet toward her at the speed of sound, and Cat automatically reached up and caught it.

Reflex action. Nothing to get upset about. Until she glanced up and saw Vincent smiling at her, then shaking his head. She promptly stuck out her tongue at him.

But she had the last laugh when he caught the bride's pink garter.

Heather changed into her traveling outfit, and the happy couple headed toward the limousine that would take them to the airport and their flight to the luxurious villa in the Bahamas. Everyone attending the wedding that had followed them outside lit sparklers and created a sparkling, fairy tale send off. The Bahamas had been her father's idea. Just as with the wedding, Heather's parents spared no expense on their honeymoon.

As Cat watched the sleek black limo turn out of the parking lot and into traffic, she breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had spoiled Heather's perfect day.

And now it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

As she walked back into the ballroom to find her velvet cloak, she promptly bumped into Vincent Keller.

"Vincent," she said, backing away from him.

"Time to run, huh?" He eyed the delicate blue paper bag Catherine had in her hand with the strangest look in his eyes. Almost predatory.

And pretty damn exciting.

"W-whatever do you mean?"

"You're going to run, the same way you ran this morning."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." As they walked along the hallway, she thought quickly. She'd have to call a cab, then double back to Heather's house to get her bag.

"I can give you a ride back to Heather's house. Clancy brought my car over for me."

"I don't think so."

"Scared of me, Catherine?"

"I'm scared of all your crackpot theories."

"I'm not . . ." Once again he cupped her chin in his hand. "Look, I'm not really good at all this sort of stuff. . ."

"What stuff?" she asked breathlessly.

"Romantic stuff. What women want to hear. But I've never promised a woman more than I can give her. All I know is that when I took one look at your beautiful hazel eyes and . . . something happened. I don't know what, but I know it was something."

"When?" she asked, confused.

"When I walked into the family room, and you were dancing. You looked up, and before you threw you bra at me, I looked straight into your eyes . . ."

She stepped back from him, breaking contact with his hand, her heart in her throat. "Oh, you LIAR! How could you know what color my eyes were! I was wearing a mask and . . ."

Catherine stopped, horrified.

 _Jig's up._  
Checkmate.  
If I were on that Survivor show, this would be the moment I'd be voted off . . . my torch snuffed out . . . the tribe has voted , Catherine . . .

"A purple mask," he said softly. "A Mardi Gras mask. It brought out the twinkle in those gorgeous hazel eyes."

"Don't." She put up her hand as if to physically ward him off.

"You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," he whispered. Taking her hand, he pulled her up against him.

"Come home with me," he said, his lips close to her ear. "Come home with me tonight,  _please . . ._ "

For one awful, wonderful moment, she considered it. Then her eyes closed, and she remembered their conversation earlier, before the guests arrived.

_Don't go trying to pretty this up and make it all romantic. I know what it was, and even knowing what it was, it was pretty incredible. The best sex I ever had in my entire life._

What was Vincent going to do, hire her to come out to his house and dance for him? And then he'd hire her for . . .

The thought of what that made her brought her up short.

She swallowed. Hard.

"Could you go get our coats? Mine's the blue velvet cape."

"I remember it." He lowered his head, and she just before he kissed her exactly what he was going to do. She gave herself over to the kiss, memories flooding her body as his lips covered and then expertly parted hers. As his tongue slid into her mouth, she shyly answered in kind, the erotic actions made her body go all soft and liquid, filled with feminine need.

The sheer intensity of his kiss and fierce masculinity behind it caused her toes to curl. His arm came around her, steadying her, offering her support. She was so close to his body that she had absolutely no doubts as to how much he wanted her. They were alone in the hallway, and she knew if he continued on, she wouldn't be able to resist him.

Vincent broke the kiss, then rested his forehead against hers for just an instant. "I'll be right back," he said, his voice not quite steady. "Wait here."

She waited, taking deep, steadying breaths, until he rounded the corner of the hallway before she took off like a bat out of hell. The evening air was absolutely freezing as she raced out the front door, though the snow had stopped. The frigid air jolted her silk-clad body out of its state of sexual arousal, as effective as a cold shower or a bathtub filled with ice cubes. Cat took a deep breath, and looked around. She saw Hunter behind the wheel of a battered orange Volkswagen, and she ran toward it.

"Hunter!" she yelled, and his head came around, his face breaking into a grin.

"Hey, Cat!"

She opened the passenger side door and flung herself inside. The heater, at full blast, felt like heaven to her cold skin.

"Can you get me back to Heather's in record time?"

"Sure thing!" He laughed as he put the car in gear. "What kind of trouble are you in now?"

She glanced back, just in time to see Vincent standing at the main doorway, both of their coats in his hand.

"You REALLY don't want to know."

* * *

He saw a flash of silvery blue silk against the evening sky, then saw Catherine hurl herself into the orange Volkswagen, her long skirts frothing around her legs. Then whoever was driving the bug shot out into traffic, while he saw Clancy and his car, backed up about fifteen cars from the exit.

 _Damn it!_  She'd bolted, just like this morning.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it right now. Shrugging into his winter coat and carrying her deep blue velvet cloak, Vincent headed toward his car.

* * *

Hunter got her to Heather's in record time, as promised. Catherine raced up the stairs to Heather's room, blessing the fact that she was pre-packed and ready to go. Feeling like the hounds of hell were on her heels and didn't want to risk taking the time to change, she reached in her bag for a jacket and sneakers, then zipped up the duffel bag. She ran back outside to where Hunter sat waiting, motor still running.

"You sure I shouldn't just call a cab?" she asked Heather's nephew.

"Nah," he said with new found confidence. "I can get you there in plenty of time for your flight."

He was as good as his word. Running inside with her carry-on, Catherine stood in the short line at the ticket counter, basically begging the young man behind the counter to give her the first flight to San Francisco that had an empty seat.

She didn't rest until she was on the plane. Cat was one of the last people to run aboard. She'd run to the gate just in time to board the plane, holding the long skirts of her dress in one hand, her duffel slung over her shoulder, clutching her small purse in the other hand.

"Must've been one hell of a wedding!" a guy called out as she passed him. His friends laughed.

Catherine didn't even look back.

When she finally fell down in her coach-class seat, it took her a moment to realize that all eyes on her, including the flight attendant's.

In her bridesmaid's dress, rosebuds twined in her hair, with her casual jacket and sneakers, she had to look like a fashion disaster. Definitely a don't, according to that famous Glamour magazine article.

"Don't ask," she said to one man in his thirties who was staring, and another passenger, a woman in her late fifties, simply started to laugh.


	11. The Realization

At precisely 11 o'clock, Vincent heard the doorbell ring. He walked to the front door, opened it. But he already knew the woman he wanted wouldn't be standing outside.

The woman who stood on the front step was very short. She had streaked blond hair and a REALLY voluptuous figure, her breasts almost spilling out of the pink, bustier type top she wore. And she was chewing gum, snapping as she chewed.

But she wasn't his Candy. Not even close.

"Hi," she said brusquely. "Zeke said you wanted a private dance."

"Come on in."

He guided her into the family room, poured her a glass of very good white wine, and settled them both by the crackling fire.

"Let's not waste any time," Vincent said. "I'm trying to find the girl that replaced you last night. I won't tell Zeke it wasn't you. I don't want any trouble. I just want information."

Candy considered this. "Kiki," she said. "Kiki would know. She always gets all the deets."

"Can you get in touch with Kiki? Right now?"

"Yeah, sure. I can hit her on my celly. But, she might not come if there is no money involved. Girls gotta eat, ya know?"

"I can make it worth her while."

"Kay." Candy whipped out her cell phone and dialed a number. "Kiki? Hey girl, it's Candy. Listen, can you come the house from last night. The money man wants info. Something about the girl . . . yeah, hang on."

She turned to Vincent. "She says her name was Kitty something. Or Kathy."

"Catherine?"

"Yeah. Kiki says that's it. She can't come down here tonight, her kid is sick. This ok?"

"I will mail her the money for her time."

"She says that's cool. So, this Catherine, she says she is a dancer anyways, and it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Vincent held out his hand for the phone. "May I?"

Candy handed the phone over to him.

"Kiki?"

"Yes?"

"This is Vincent, the money man," he said with a smirk.

Kiki laughed.

"Did you know anything else about this woman?"

"Yeah, she said she had this dance troupe she was a part of . . . wait, I'm trying to remember. . ."

Vincent held his breath.

"Emotion in Motion! That was it! It's this sort of artsy dance troupe. She said they did one recital in nothing but blue body paint."

"Thank you for your time."

"Tell Candy to haul ass over here."

Vincent laughed. "Will do."

Vincent handed the phone back to Candy while relaying the message. Candy said goodbye, and Vincent walked her out.

Vincent moved into the den, trying to keep his mind on the computer screen in front of him and not succumb to the memories of what happened in this very room less than twenty four hours ago.

He found the search engine he wanted and carefully typed in the words, "Emotion in Motion." Then he hit Enter, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. A page of various web sites came up, and he scanned them rapidly, grinning when he found a dance troupe in San Francisco well-known for its avant-garde entertainment.

He clicked on the web site, and his screen filled with a brilliant background that looked like bright splashes of vividly colored paint. There was a small picture in the corner and he clicked one it to enlarge it.

"Bingo," he said very softly.

In the middle of the group of people, all in various leotards and costumes, was Catherine. He'd recognize that laughing grin anywhere, those vivid eyes. There was so much life to her, a vibrant energy that seemed to shimmer off her body.

He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, then wrote down the address and phone number of the dance troupe. He was just shutting off the computer when the other line on his desk rang. His private line. It had to be J.T.. For once, Vincent found that his mind wasn't on business.

Vincent picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, Vincent, how'd the wedding go?"

"Great. Can you cover me for a few days?"

"What's up?"

"I'm going to be flying to San Francisco."

"What?" His friend and business partner sounded amazed. "A quick getaway during one of our busiest times of the year? I'm gonna need a Tums."

"It's important."

J.T. was silent, then said with total delight in his voice, "It's a woman, isn't it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Vincent, please. It's that Cat-Candy girl, isn't it? The dancer?"

Vincent stared into the phone. How did everyone in the world seem to know all his business?

"How did you know her name?"

"We had a little chat on the phone last night."

"You did."

"Don't tell me you're jealous! Vincent, I love this!" he said. "This is too much fun."

He didn't know what to say.

"Look, she picked up the phone and asked if you were always this bad."

"This . . . bad?"

"You know, Vincent, all work and no play?"

"Yeah."

"Anyway, it was my impression that she really liked you."

"She doesn't like me at all," he said.

J.T. laughed. "Give her a chance. I assume you're going out to San Francisco to meet her."

"In a way."

"This just gets better and better. Vincent, take all the time you need. I'll be here running things, and Riley will be fine with me. If you have any worries about the company or this dancer, call me day or night."

Vincent suddenly found himself very grateful that he had a partner like J.T.. His business partner and his wife were both friends and the brother and sister he'd never had.

"Thanks, J.T.. That means a lot."

"Hey, any time. I just want you to be happy, you know?"

"Yeah, I do."

Vincent hung up the phone, then turned the computer back on, and found several travel sites. After comparing prices, he picked one, charged it, and turned off the computer again. Though he could have afforded a private jet if he'd wanted one, he was a frugal man by nature and saw no sense in spending money wildly. He'd invested carefully for the future and was perfectly content to fly on regular airlines.

He sat in his den, all alone, and it was as if Catherine's spirit had possessed the place. He only had to close his eyes and he could see her dancing, her body swaying to the music, that glittering purple mask on her face. He couldn't look at the fire without seeing her lying in front of it on the fur rug, totally naked. He couldn't glance at the long leather couch without smiling, thinking of all those sharp, challenging retorts coming out of her glossy red mouth. And he hadn't even bothered to put the blanket away; he'd merely thrown it up on top of the couch.

Well, he didn't leave for the airport until morning, which gave him plenty of time to pack and do a little cleaning up. He'd vacuumed the family room before he and Evan had left for the wedding and also put the garbage out, the dark green trash bags filled with paper plates and plastic forks and cups. He'd fold the blanket and leave it here, then go upstairs and pack.

Vincent got up from his desk chair and walked over to the sofa. He lifted the blanket off the couch, shook it out, and saw small, dark stains.

Puzzled, he looked closer. It took him a moment before he realized he was looking at bloodstains.

_Blood. Did she hurt herself, cut herself? Did I hurt her in any way?_

When the obvious answer asserted itself in his mind, he went totally still. And remembered how right it felt when their bodies had joined together, and how very tight she'd felt, how exquisitely her body had sheathed him.

Catherine had been a virgin.

She'd been totally inexperienced, and he'd treated her as if she'd known exactly what she was doing, as if she were a very experienced person. He'd done nothing to reassure her, nothing to make her first time special.

He stayed away from virgins for this very reason, preferring women who knew the score and knew what they were doing. And what he was going to do to them.

_A virgin._

He had to sit down; his legs were starting to wobble.

He sat, staring at the blanket. After almost a full minute, he pushed it away from him, tossed it back on to the couch, and put his face in his hands.

This made things ever so much more complicated. Now he had two reasons to go to San Francisco and find Catherine Chandler.

One, he had to apologize for treating her as if . . . as if she were really Candy. Basically, as if she'd had any idea at all what she was doing.

And two, he hadn't bothered with any birth control, assuming that she'd been on birth control already. Now Vincent realized that he couldn't really assume anything. For all he knew, Catherine might be pregnant with his child.

How right the expression was, to never assume anything because all you do is make an ass out of you and me.

He'd treated her badly. As badly as a virgin could be treated. She'd been like Little Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf. Vincent cringed as he remembered hauling her up over his shoulder and carrying her down to the den, and later locking the doors they could be alone together.

_Let's not get carried away here. You didn't lock her in against her will. She was definitely a consenting party._

But he should've known better. He was older than her, more experienced than her, but he'd just let every shred of common sense fly right out the window.

_Right about the time you got a really good look at her breasts. And then, of course, there was that stellar moment on the dance floor when you grabbed her ass._

It just got worse and worse. After a few moments, Vincent stood up, grabbed the blanket, bundled it up, and headed upstairs to his bedroom to pack for his flight out to San Francisco.

It looked like he was going to have to eat crow, after all.


	12. The Grandfather

Catherine found herself relieved to be back in San Francisco, with its familiar cool and breezy seaside weather, the hills, the fog, and the smell of the ocean in the air. Though winter usually brought its fair share of rain, she came back to good weather.

She'd grown up in the city, always in the care of her grandfather, Thomas Chandler. After her mother had died, her grandparents had been the only constants in her life. Now, with only her grandfather left, she considered him both mother and father. She also considered San Francisco her home and hoped it always would be.

This morning, she found her grandfather in the sunny breakfast room of the large Nob Hill mansion they both lived in, an open copy of the San Francisco Chronicle shielding his face, his usual breakfast sitting in front of him.

His three beloved Pekingese dogs sat at his feet, their small pink tongues hanging out, their little faces inquisitive, and their black button eyes sparkling.

"Hello, Papa," Catherine said, bending to give her a kiss on his weathered cheek. How she loved this man. He'd been her rock when her world had caved in. He'd been there for her through some very hard times, and his love and devotion had never faltered. Long ago, Catherine had made the choice to continue living with her grandfather simply because being around him made Catherine very happy.

In his seventies, her grandfather lived a very full life. He ran several incredibly successful charities, had a mind sharper than almost anyone she'd ever met, and believed that people were meant to find their better halves and  _marry._  He'd adored his wife; they'd had a long and very happy marriage.

And Thomas wanted the same for his only granddaughter.

The only negative thing concerning her grandfather was that he tended to be a tad over protective. He often despaired of the performances Catherine and her dance troupe put on. But most of the time he found out about them after the fact, reading the review in the paper.

"You are so like your mother," he often remarked.

"And that's why you worry," Catherine often replied.

Thomas's hazel eyes, so like Cat's, would twinkle while he watched over her granddaughter like a hawk.

And he never missed a trick.

_Overprotective, thy name is Thomas Chandler._

"Good morning, Cat," he said, setting down his cup of tea. "I trust Heather's wedding went well?"

"It was absolutely beautiful."

"Hmm, that's good to hear. And the young man she chose?"

"A very nice guy."

"Good. The selection of a life partner is crucial, you know . . ."

"Oh, yes," she said, cutting her grandfather off at the pass. He wanted Catherine to get married; preferably to a man he approved of who would take care of her and perhaps curb her wilder ways. Protect her.

As she sat at the breakfast table, she wondered what her grandfather would think of Vincent Keller. Trying to think of ways to distract herself from THAT line of thought, Catherine jumped right back into the conversation.

"Which charity are you sponsoring right before Christmas?" she asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the small pot on the table. She reached for the sugar, then the cream, fixed her coffee the way she liked it, and raised the rose-patterned china to her lips.

"Don't try to distract me, Kitty!" Her grandfather's eyes twinkled as he set down his teacup. "Did you meet anyone nice at this wedding?"

She barely managed to escape blowing hot coffee out her nose. As it was, she almost swallowed some of it down the wrong pipe.

_Did I!_

She knew her grandfather could never, ever,  _ever_  in a million years find out about what had happened between her and Vincent Keller. She doubted her grandfather needed, or wanted, to know the intimate details of her life. He would not be amused.

"Cat?" Thomas was watching her carefully, and for a moment she felt like a tiny mouse, looking up and seeing a powerful hawk swooping down on her.

"Meet someone? Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I met a lot of nice people, including Heather's nephew, Hunter." She went on to describe Heather's seventeen-year-old nephew and the dances they shared at the reception, trying to ignore the slight frown on her grandfathers concerned face.

"He was such a nice guy; he even drove me to the airport when the reception was over."

"No one closer to your own age was at that wedding?"

"No."

Relationships were a hot button to Sookie, because of all the stories she'd heard about her own mother. Elizabeth Chandler had been a dancer as well, a classical ballerina with immense talent and potential, when she'd fallen in love with Michael Crenshaw, Catherine's father.

The marriage had been a disaster, and Elizabeth had come home to her parent's house one rainy winter night, a broken woman with an infant daughter in tow. And while Thomas and Chelsea Chandler had taken exquisite care of their granddaughter, Elizabeth had gone into a long depression from which she'd never really recovered.

That left Catherine terrified of marriage. She didn't want anyone holding her down, keeping her back, making her suitable, or deciding what was best for her.

"Well," she said brightly, finishing up the last of her coffee, "That's it for me. Got to go down to the theater and check out the rehearsal schedule."

"Excellent. I'm going to be making some phone calls for that charity dinner and auction right before Christmas. The one that benefits my animal shelter."

Tom had several charitable interests, one of the main ones being an animal shelter in North Beach that she sponsored. This particular dinner would be a gourmet's vegetarian delight, with the price per plate at one thousand dollars. All of the money would go toward any lost and injured animals in the city.

"What's the date on that again?"

"The twenty-second. Six o'clock on the dot."

"I'll be there," she promised.

"I thought that perhaps you could act as my hostess for the evening."

"I'd be honored," she said, then gave her grandfather a swift hug and a kiss before she headed out the door.

* * *

Vincent sat in his rental car, parked across from The Destiny Theater in San Francisco's Upper Mission District. The building was huge but kept up pretty decently, painted an amazing purple color. He'd done some reading about it and learned that it had once been a machine shop. It was here that Catherine's dance troupe, Emotion in Motion, both practiced and performed.

He leaned back in the seat of the car, half asleep. He'd flown out with barely a plan formed, kind of winging it. He had no idea what he was going to say to her when he saw her, or if she'd even want to see him.

A flash of color caught his eye, and he turned in his seat, then sank down and pulled the bill of his baseball cap farther over her face.

There she was, walking down the street . . . no, a gait like that could only be called  _dancing_. She had on a bright pink dress, silver boots, and swung a large tote bag decorated with some ridiculous flowers. A turquoise sweater completed her outfit.

She looked absolutely wonderful.

Her glowing auburn hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and he watched a slender young man in his twenties run up to her. They hugged each other, then fell into step, side by side, arms around each other and engaged in animated conversation.

At that moment, Vincent found himself wanting to be part of her world, no matter what it cost him. She simply lit up wherever she was, with her own glowing little spotlight.

They both entered the theater doors, and Vincent settled back in the car. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do next but he knew he had to find a way to locate where she lived and then call her and set up some sort of meeting.

If only to apologize.

The news was not good, Catherinethought as she sat around a circular table offstage and chewed on a fingernail.

First, the roof was leaking again. Second, one of their dancers had fallen down at a party over the weekend and severely twisted her ankle. Thirdly, they were behind where they should be in rehearsal for their dance recital that opened the last week in January.

"I'm going to suggest . . ." she began.

"No," several people said in unison. Catherine bit her lip, then smiled wryly. The answer never changed, though she never stopped making the suggestion. Even though she had access to a great whacking bunch of money, no one would let her use it to finance their group. They had long ago decided that they would make it on their own effort or not at all.

"Okay, okay. Can Jessica take Becky's part?" she asked, Becky being the dancer who had twisted her ankle.

"She'll pick it up quick," Joe said. He was her right hand man, and had been waiting for her outside the theater.

"Sounds like a plan," said Robert in a slight monotone. He was a big, burly bearded bear of a man, who usually dressed in flannel shirts and overalls. Married with five children, Andy didn't dance, but his oldest daughter, Portia, did. So he came down to the theater on a regular basis, doing a ton of odd handyman jobs around the place.

Rob had a resigned, sorrowful outlook on life, as if he didn't expect much good to come of anything, and he reminded Catherine of Eeyore, in that children's story.

_Thanks for noticing me._

But, he was no match for a leaky roof.

The plan had been to take the monies made from the recital in January and us to help fix the roof. But now with their main dancer out of the show . . .

"Okay!" Catherine said, standing up. "Let's not worry too much; these problems have a way of working out. I say we go for a killer rehearsal."

Murmured approvals and nods met this suggestion.

"Let's get our blood going with some jazz." Catherine suggested. "Rob, can you man the music and lights?

"Sure thing," he said gloomily.

_Don't mind me, nobody ever does._

"Thanks!" she gave him a swift hug before heading for the dressing rooms they'd built in the drafty basement of the building.

* * *

He knew he was playing with fire, but Vincent found himself sneaking in the theater, then walking through the large lobby and into the back of the actual theater itself.

All the lights were focused onstage, on the dancers, and he found he could hide in the shadows. Trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, he quickly sat down in the very back row.

The music was jazz, hot jazz, and the movement onstage was modern, lively, and very, very sexy.

It took him mere second to find Catherine. She was in front leading them all through an intricate dance routine.

"And one and two and . . . that's it, that's it!"

He noticed that she seemed to be focused on one particular woman in the back, more a girl really, a chubby brunette in a red leotard who seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the dance routine. Vincent watched, fascinated, then frowned when in the middle of the number, the chubby girl stopped, a look of desperate resignation on her face.

She started toward the front of the stage, grabbed a large blue tote bag, slung it over her shoulder, and then race down the stage steps towards his direction.

He crouched lower in his seat, and as she came closer, he scrambled down onto the cold, carpeted floor.

Vincent heard swift footstep running up the aisle, then Catherine's concerned voice.

"Portia, wait!"

One set of footsteps stopped, only about three rows from where he was hiding. And Vincent wondered what he would say if Catherine found him in her theater, in her territory, groveling on the floor.

_Oh, hi, I just flew in all the way from New York to spy on you. By the way, you're an excellent dancer._

This was not the way he'd planned their first meeting.

"Portia," Cat's voice was gentle. "What's wrong?"

Portia's voice was thick with emotion. "I'm fat and ugly, and I am never going to get this stupid routine!"

"I don't think that's true."

"You're just saying that because my dad helps out around here!"

"Do you really believe that?"

Silence.

Vincent marveled at her, at the genuine concern and caring he heard in her voice. She was a woman unlike any other he'd met, and he was discovering that the more he found out about her, the more he really liked her.

"No." The one whispered word was said in a grudging tone.

"Do you need to take today off?"

Silence, then, "Yeah. I think I do."

"How about you wait here until practice is over, and then we'll go for a latte and talk. Forty minutes sound good?"

"Yeah."

Vincent heard the sound of a theater seat opening, then Portia sitting down. He heard Catherine's light tread as she flew down the aisle of the theater. And he realized . . .

_Forty minutes!?_

He'd have to remain on the floor for the next forty minutes ( _At least!)_  to escape detection.

_God, its cold this close to the floor._

Wishing he could rub his hands together for a little warmth but not daring to make a sound or shift his position in any way, Vincent gritted his teeth and determined to wait it out.

* * *

"Okay, that's it for today! How about three o'clock tomorrow?"

Vincent opened his eyes at the sound of Catherine's voice. His left leg had fallen asleep, and now his right hand was following suit. That, and spasms of muscle cramps had been going on for close to the last fifteen minutes.

He heard her footsteps coming down the aisle. "Okay, Portia, let's go."

"You know," said the teenager, sounding better than she had before, "it helped just sitting out here and watching the whole routine, over and over."

And Vincent had to grin at the smile he heard in Cat's voice. "Funny how that happens, isn't it? Come on, let's go get that coffee."

They headed out the back door into the lobby, and Vincent waited until he heard all the other dancers leave the stage. Feeling very sore in every single muscle of his body, cold and stiff, he sat up, winced, and then slowly made his way out into the lobby. He pushed open the large doors and squinted up at the blinding, bright sunshine, feeling either like a huge creeper, or a mole that had just been pushed up from underground.

He couldn't decide which.

* * *

Lying in the large bathroom in his hotel suite, the tub filled with blissfully hot water and whatever sort of bubble bath had been in the generously sized guest bottle on the sink, Vincent stared up at the ceiling and admitted defeat.

He didn't know how he was going to approach Catherine.

He didn't like following her around without her knowing about it. It smacked of stalking, and he certainly didn't want her to think of him in that way. Plus, it just made him feel plain old DIRTY, and not in the fun way.

But he wanted to see her again; he was sure of that.

Vincent couldn't seem to stop remembering the night they'd spent together. His thoughts kept coming back to that moment in time.

All he had to do was figure out a way to meet her. Legitimately, no more of this skulking around stuff.

He sighed, settled back more deeply into the hot water. It was simply time to regroup.

His cell phone rang, and he reached for it, right next to the tub where he'd placed it.

"I am here."

"Vincent!" J.T. said. Just what he needed, a problem at home or at work.

"What's wrong? Is Riley okay?" He'd left his black lab, Riley, with J.T. and his wife during the bachelor party at his house and had asked his friend to take care of his dog while out of town.

J.T. laughed. "Nothing! Riley and I are fine. I am currently teaching him how shit on command. The trigger word is your name. Isn't that great?"

Vincent snorted.

"You don't sound too happy. What's wrong? And does it have anything to do with that little dancer?"

Vincent found himself annoyed by the hint of laughter in his business partner's voice. "Oh, never mind . . ."

"Listen Vincent, the reason I called is that I was thinking about what you were up to, when I remembered an old acquaintance. She is probably one of the nicest older women I have ever met in my life. She knows everyone in San Francisco, and well . . . I asked him about your Catherine Chandler, and she claims to know quite a lot about her and the grandfather she lives with."

Vincent sat up in the bathtub, sloshing bubbly water all over the white marble floor.

"You've got my attention."

"Her name is Tess Vargas, and she said you could call her and come over for dinner anytime, just give her chef a couple of hours' notice."

Sloshing out of the tub, slipping every which way, Vincent walked into the living area of his suite, holding the cell phone to his ear, and reached for one of the hotel pads of paper and a pen.

"Go ahead."

Swiftly he wrote down the woman's name, address, and telephone number.

"It's the only way it can work," J.T. said emphatically. "With high society, you need a connection, and this lady is a great one."

"Marry me, J.T.." Vincent smiled, sighing into the phone.

"Eww, no. Plus, already married. Remember? You add another guy in the mix and there is just too much male posturing. But thanks for the offer. Just give Cat-Candy my best. Oh, and don't do anything I wouldn't do," J.T. snickered.

Vincent hung up the phone, and sat, staring at the piece of paper with his newfound lifeline on it.

No time like the present.

He dialed the number.

As soon as he stated who he was to the phone machine, the receiver on the other end picked up.

"Vincent Keller ," the woman's voice on the other end of the line fairly purred, and Vincent pictures a huge, white Persian cat on the other end of the line. "I've been expecting your call. Your friend J.T. is quite the entertaining fellow."

"Isn't he ever?"

Vincent felt his entire body tense, filled with impatience. "I'd like to talk to you over dinner. Tonight."

"My, aren't we forceful. How about dinner at my place, say, about eight?"

"Sounds good. I'll be there."

"Anything you're allergic to or can't eat?"

"Nope."

"Anything favorite foods?"

Vincent smiled. "You pick for me."

He hung up the phone, then padded into the bathroom, and got back into the tub. Things were definitely looking up.

 _Don't do anything I wouldn't do,_ J.T. had said.

"Which means," he said with a wicked grin. "All's fair . . ."


	13. The Tuxedo

Tess vargas did look like a sleek, albeit pampered cat, with her slim yet voluptuous body, her thick long flowing salt and pepper hair, and her mischievously twinkling brown eyes that tilted slightly up at the corner.

When Vincent rang the bell to the luxurious mansion in Nob Hill, her butler answered and escorted him into her front parlor, where she lay reclined on a red velvet chaise lounge. The rest of the place had been decorated in a style that Vincent would have assumed was called Early Bordello, circa San Francisco during its wild, Barbary Coast days.

The woman would have been right at home in the salons of eighteenth-century London and France. For one wild moment, Vincent wondered what his dear friend J.T. had gotten him into.

"So," Tess purred, "you're interested in Catherine Chandler?"

Nothing like a woman who got straight to the point.

Vincent decided he had nothing to gain by hedging the question. "Yes."

"I love romantic intrigue," Tess said, indicating that Vincent should take a seat on the lounge next to her. "And it's my job to watch out for Catherine. She is my next door neighbor."

Vincent almost choked on his own spit.

"You didn't know? Oh, this just gets better and better," she said shaking her head, amused. "So you honestly had no idea she comes from money?"

He shook his head.

"Her relatives made their money during the gold rush. Plus, her great-grandfather invented Velcro, or something. The Chandler's are one of the oldest and wealthiest families in San Francisco. So you can see how Thomas-her grandfather- would be concerned."

Vincent nodded his head, feeling totally out of his league. He and J.T. had made a ton of money with their computer company, but new money wasn't the same as old money, and they both knew it.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "Tom is concerned Catherine will never marry."

"And why is that?" New money or not, Vincent wasn't giving up.

Briefly, Tess told him about the Chandler family story, all about Elizabeth Chandler and her disastrous marriage to Michael Crenshaw, and the long decline that had followed.

Tess didn't impart these facts as a gossip might, or maliciously. She had a matter-of-fact manner that Vincent found extremely refreshing and delightfully Latin.

The slight accent gave away Tess's country of origin.

"I don't care about the money," he said softly.

"I believe you. You seem different to me, and to get the attention of our Cat, speaks volumes in my book."

"I met Catherine at her friend's wedding in New York, and, well, we got off on the wrong foot."

"I see," she said leaning back into her chair, folding her hands in her lap.

"I came out here to set things straight and to make her aware of my intentions."

"And those intentions are?"

The truth about it what it was he wanted from a relationship with Catherine hit him like a ton of bricks, broadsided him with the intensity of a sucker punch. And he thought back to Evan, and how nervous and unsure he'd been the night before his wedding. Vincent had believed, and still did, that when it was right, it was right. You knew. A man decided what it was he wanted and went after it, no hesitations, and no excuses.

This was it.

"I want to marry her."

Tess smiled, those lively brown eyes sparkling, and Vincent knew he was satisfied with his answer.

He'd known the truth before the words were out of his mouth. Vincent knew there could be nothing else but marriage with a woman like Catherine. He'd been her first lover, and he wanted to be her only lover, her last. He didn't want her to be with anyone else that way, sharing the intimacy they'd had together that night with any other man.

His feelings had shocked him at first, but he couldn't ignore how right they felt. His entire life, what he wanted form it and how he wanted to life it, had changed the moment he'd met her. Changed forever.

The only thing he knew was that he wanted to be with her.

"But you realize what you're up against? Catherine isn't an easy girl by any degree, especially since what happened in that family," Tess said, eyeing him closely.

"Now I do, thanks to you." His instinct, which had served him well in the business world, told him the older woman had a good heart and could be trusted.

At that moment, a very fat, smoke colored Persian cat with lavender eyes sauntered into the parlor.

"Ah, you must meet Quinn."

The cat wandered nonchalantly over to Vincent, who petted the top of his head. Then as the massive cat leaned against his legs, Vincent scratched the feline beneath his chin. The sounds of Quinn's purrs soon filled the silent room.

"That's something in your favor," Tess cooed. "Because both Catherine and her grandfather love animals. In fact, he's giving a charity ball on the twenty-second of this month to benefit his favorite animal shelter. I'm sure Catherine will act as his hostess."

This was as good an opening as any. "Can I still get a ticket?"

"At a thousand dollars a plate, I am sure there are still seats available. I'll give you the number before you leave. Oh, it's a formal dinner. Did you bring a tuxedo?"

"No, but I can buy one tomorrow."

"Wonderful." She eyed him again, those catlike brown eyes alive with interest. "You'd look very good in Armani. Would you like the name of a good place to buy a designer suit? I have wonderful tailors."

"Sure." Vincent grinned. Things were getting better and better.

Tess laughed, delighted. "Vincent, you're very entertaining company, in more ways than one," he said under his breath and Vincent let out a laugh. Tess smiled and gestured for them to stand. "Now shall we go into the dining room and have dinner?"

Over dinner, Tess explained how this benefit dinner of Thomas Chandler's worked.

"It's like the Fire and Ice Ball down in Los Angeles. Everyone has to come dressed in black, or white, or both, so you'll be fine in a black tuxedo with a white shirt. The tables and a small stage for the auction after dinner are set up in an airline hangar by the airport for one crucial reason. Thomas allows people to bring their animal companions, and many do. The only rule is, you cannot bring an animal that might fight or hurt anyone at the ball."

Vincent considered this.

"I don't have an animal to bring with me. I left my dog at home with J.T." He thought of Riley, the black lab he'd found wandering the streets about four years ago and brought back home.

Tess tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail on the table as he thought. "Thomas isn't the only one in this city who does rescue work, baby boy. I think I have the perfect little friend for you, and he'll look wonderful with your suit."

* * *

"Ten grand for one party?" J.T. asked. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I do, indeed," Vincent told her. "The woman on the phone assured me that by buying all the seats at one table, I could have one right up by the front, near the stage."

"But just you, at this one table?"

"Me and . . . a friend." Briefly he told her about his animal companion, loaned to him for the evening by Tess himself.

J.T. laughed so hard she dropped the phone.

"Oh, man," he finally said when he managed to pick the receiver back up. "I have to admit, I wish I could be there to see this! You'll have to give me all the details . . . well, not all of them, depending on how lucky you get."

"Funny. Anyway, I didn't want you to be surprised by the ten thousand dollar donation."

J.T. started to laugh again. "As long as I know it's for a good cause!"

* * *

Catherine waited as their car, a Bentley, was brought around front. She'd chosen black, and the long black evening gown, beaded lightly with jet black bugle beads, which caught the light and shimmered. She'd worn her hair up again, this time in an intricately braided style, so it wouldn't get caught in the beading.

Her small black purse, a black shawl, a pair of black high heels, and Coco, her grandfather's cream-colored Pekingese, completed her outfit. She was thankful for the chance to remain busy. It kept her from thinking about Vincent too much.

_You really are lousy at this one-night–stand thing. You're supposed to love 'em and leave 'em, not love 'em and then not be able to stop thinking about them! You have got to get these memories under control._

But it was hard, especially late at night. She'd toss and turn in her bed, remembering everything that they'd done together, getting herself into such a state that he'd actually gone into her bathroom and taken a cold shower! Anything to dampen the memories she had of Vincent.

The solution, she thought, is to keep busy.

And she'd certainly be busy tonight.

Catherine loved helping her grandfather with his various charities, and it was from him that she had learned the spirit of philanthropy. Giving always made the world a better place.

* * *

Vincent hummed as he adjusted his tuxedo jacket, then studied himself in the full length mirror.

_Excellent._

He glanced at his watch. Within the hour, he'd see Catherine again.

Then he glanced at the hotel bed, where his animal companion for the evening snoozed, a furry heap by his pillow.

Tess was right; the little guy matched his suit perfectly!

* * *

The airplane hangar out by San Francisco Airport was packed tightly with people, everyone milling around in their evening wear and greeting each other, dogs on leather leashes, cats with sparkly collars lounging around their owner's necks or in their arms. A few people had brought brightly colored parrots, and a little girl with her parents had brought her white bunny in a secure carrier.

Two or three monkeys chattered in the distance, and a potbellied pig walked by, snorting, as Catherine busily trailed after her grandfather, a clipboard in her hand and Coco following closely at her heels. Thomas Chandler was always nervous before his charity events started, but once they did, he calmed right down. Catherine saw part of her job this evening as keeping her calm before the big event began.

"I can't see where there's anything left to do," she said to her grandfather.

"There is one more little detail, darling."

"And that is what?"

"Well, there's this young man. I got the impression that he is new in town. But he loves animals as much as we do, and he did the most incredible thing! He bought an entire table of tickets, and so we placed him toward the front where he'll have an excellent view of the stage for the auction after dinner. But I just hate to think of him sitting at that table and eating all alone. So, would you . . ."

Catherine patted his arm, not even allowing him to finish the sentence. He was such a dear, but he really did get way too nervous.

"Of course I'll go sit at his table and have dinner with him. It's the least I can do. Did he really pay ten thousand dollars?"

Her grandfather shook his head. "I still can't believe it. Generosity on that level renews my faith in my fellow man."

She gave Thomas a quick kiss. "Not to worry. You point me in the direction of his table, and once cocktail hour is over and we sit down to dinner, I'll be the hostess with the mostest!"

* * *

Vincent watched her work the crowd from a distance.

She petted potbellied pigs and gave a parrot a slice of apple. She took a very frightened bunny out of his cage and calmed him right down with a carrot. And she didn't even blink when a very messy Saint Bernard drooled all over the skirt of her evening gown.

He was liking her more and more.

Cocktails were from six to seven, and at seven the lights dimmed, candles were lit, and everyone was escorted to their tables. Vincent walked to his, toward the front of the immense hangar, and sat down in the one chair at his table that directly faced the stage. His animal friend was slightly shy, and now he took the small creature out of his jacket where it had hidden, and settled it on the comfortable chair right next to him.

He'd heard there was going to be an auction afterward, and he was glad he was offered such a clear view of whatever would be auctioned off. At least ten grand could still buy you an excellent view. He glanced up to see Thomas Chandler pointing Catherine in the direction of his table.

He watched, fascinated as Catherine made her way through the tables, a cream-colored, hairy little dog in her arms, her dress shimmering in the candlelight.

Trying not to grin, he turned his head so she could only see his tuxedo-clad back and lavished some attention on his animal companion for the evening. This particular animal was a true original; he hadn't seen another of its kind here tonight.

It was almost as if he had radar where she was concerned; he could literally feel her approach. Within minutes, he heard her say, "Hello, I'm so happy to meet you, Mr. . . ."

He turned, and Vincent could honestly say that her reaction was not quite what he'd hoped it would be. Those glorious hazel eyes widened, her face paled, and she almost dropped the little dog, who squirmed forward to plant a very wet doggy kiss on his cheek.

"YOU!" she whispered, her expression a picture of total shock.


	14. The Dinner

_Definitely_  not the reaction he'd hoped for.

"Yes, me," he said brightly, standing up and pulling out a chair for her. She hesitated, then Catherine back to see her grandfather beaming at her. Though Vincent hated for her to be so uncomfortable, he was glad she couldn't run away like she had at the wedding.

"Sit down," he whispered. "Stay a spell."

She sat, and he followed suit.

She turned toward him, about to say something, when her eye caught the furry animal sitting calmly in the chair next to him.

" _What_ ," she said, pointing to the creature in question, "is  _that_!"

"I should think the answer should be obvious," he smirked, picking up the small bundle of striking black-and-white fur and placing it in his lap.

"A  _skunk_?"

"The one and only. I haven't seen another one here, and I really do think they should be represented at this extravaganza."

"Is he . . ."

"Fully de-scented. He's just a baby, but very well socialized. This little guy is not a bomb about to blow."

They Catherine up just in time to see the waiter place two salads in front of them. The skunk perked up at the sight and smell of food, and was now wriggling closer to Vincent's plate.

"Could I get some avocado for my friend here?" Vincent said to the waiter. "I don't think he'll like it drenched in dressing."

Dead silence reigned as the waiter scurried away.

"Oh, come on, Catherine, let's at least try to be civil to each other." He held the baby skunk a few inches off of his lap and waved one of its tiny paws at her. "Mr. LePew, this is Catherine Chandler. Catherine, meet . . ."

"You're not funny."

"I'm not trying to be. I'm trying to salvage what, up until now, has been a very pleasant evening."

"Why are you in San Francisco?"

"Business brought me," he said, improvising wildly. "J.T. and I . . . you remember J.T., the man you spoke to on the phone that night . . . well, we're looking to open an office on the West Coast. We're getting awfully tired of the East Coast."

"And when did you decide this?"

He almost laughed out loud; those glorious hazel eyes were so darn suspicious. He couldn't get anything past her. And Vincent decided a little truth was in order.

"Oh, about five minutes after you ditched me at the wedding." He picked up his fork and speared a few of the baby greens on his plate. "By the way, I have a blue velvet wrap that I want to return to you."

"Throw it away."

"Catherine." He set his fork down. "Can't we behave like normal adults? Must we keep going round and round like this?"

"You weren't supposed to come back into my life!" she said desperately. "You were supposed to be a moment out of time!" She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. "A one night stand, a, a . . . a moment of total insanity."

He considered this. "I'm flattered. I think."

"But that supposed to be the end of it."

She started to rise, and he reacted on impulse, grabbing her wrist and making her sit back down.

"It can't be the end of it, Cat. You know it as well as I do. Not when I found out you were a virgin . . ."

He stopped talking when the waiter set down a small plate of avocado, the thin, perfectly cut slices fanned out in a stunning presentation.

"For your skunk, sir," he said, then glided away.

"Here you go, Pepe," Vincent said, placing the plate on the chair next to him, and the baby skunk set to work on the food with gusto.

When he glanced back at Catherine, her face was flaming with embarrassment.

"If you were a gentleman, you wouldn't even be talking about such a subject . . ."

"If I were a gentleman, I'd be boring the pants off you. Just like all those other suitable men your grandfather has been parading by you for the last five years."

"How did you find out about that?" Now, she seemed truly shocked.

"I have my ways. Now, are we going to enjoy dinner together or not?"

She seemed to be counting to ten, ready to blow. Then she hesitated, seemed to calm down. Her final answer surprised him.

"No. No, Mr. Keller, I'll have dinner with you and your Mr. LePew, but only because by doing so, I'll make my grandfather very happy." She glanced pointedly at his hand still hold her wrist. "You can let go now."

"Very well."

Each of them picked up their forks and began to eat their salads. Vincent was impressed with his first course, a mix of baby greens, thinly sliced fennel bulb, white mushrooms, a few choice pieces of avocado, and some shaved Parmesan cheese, all lightly coated in a shallot vinaigrette.

Thomas Chandler certainly knew his food.

After a few minutes he said, "Would it be too much to ask for a little dinner conversation?"

"I have an idea," she said, setting down her salad fork. "How about if we pretend we're total strangers and we've just met?'

He perked up at this. "You mean like that sexual fantasy where a husband and wife meet at a bar . . ."

"Does everything have to be sexual with you?"

He sobered instantly. "Actually, no. To be honest, J.T. has no idea I'm considering opening a West Coast office, because I just thought of it today. And the only reason that I'm out here is that I wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened, for the way I treated you. If I'd known you weren't that experienced . . ."

"No," she said quickly, interrupting him. "It was a . . . a change, a really refreshing change from the way most of the men in my life treat me. It's like they put me up on this pedestal, and I can't quite breathe. . ."

She seemed to remember exactly who she was talking to and fell silent, but Vincent filed this crucial bit of information away for future reference. He decided to make nice and not push her any further.

"Does your grandfather put on a show like this every year for the animals?" he asked, reaching for his wine glass. Catherine seemed to relax back into her chair, and the fuzzy, cream-colored mop in her lap started to nod off. Vincent glanced over at Mr. LePew, who had just finished his avocados and was curled up in his chair, quite content.

"He loves it, every single minute of it. He loves animals. Now all he has left to worry about is whether he'll raise enough money with the auction."

"What are they auctioning off?" Vincent asked, clearly interested.

"Animals from the shelter."

That reassured him. As he was living in a hotel room and had no place to keep an animal, Vincent knew he wouldn't be tempted to bid for a pet, no matter how cute the puppy or kitten turned out to be. Nope, Mr. LePew was enough for him, and he'd return the baby skunk to Tess in the morning, as planned.

Their waiter came and replaced their salad plates with the main course. As Vincent didn't normally eat vegetarian cuisine, he asked the waiter for a quick clarification.

"That, sir, is an artichoke, celery root, and potato gratin, with a golden crust of bread crumbs."

"It looks fabulous."

The casserole was incredibly good.

"This is first class," he said, after his first mouthful.

"At a thousand dollars a plate, my grandfather believes he has a certain responsibility to go all out. There are four courses to the dinner, including the salad. And he always lets me pick out the dessert."

"That I can't wait to see." He took another bite of the gratin, chewed, and swallowed. "So there's more after this?"

"One more main course. You'll like it."

Mr. LePew had woken out of his sound sleep and was eyeing Vincent's plate.

"It must be because he's French," Vincent teased Catherine. "He must have smelled all the butter in the sauce."

He was rewarded by her laughter, then he took a tiny piece of the casserole and put it on the skunk's plate. Pepe happily gobbled it down.

"Only the finest cuisine for our French friend."

"It's also all organic," Catherines aid. "Absolutely everything on your plate tonight. That's part of the reason it tastes so good."

"Your grandfather's a pretty progressive guy."

"You don't know the half of it."

The next course arrived, portabella mushrooms with pappardelle pasta, and Vincent could smell the rich pasta sauce with its garlic, tomato pastes, red wine, cream, and rosemary.

"Where did your grandfather get this food?" he asked, forking up another bite of pasta.

"He eats a largely vegetarian diet at his age. His doctor recommended it. So he knows a lot of the best vegetarian restaurants in the city. And this city is known for its food."

"I can see why." Vincent couldn't believe they were actually having a civilized conversation. And he began to hope. They could build on this; he wasn't THAT bad a guy, she could learn to like him.

He glanced over at her grandfather's table and saw Tess studying the two of them. She gave Vincent a saucy wink, and Vincent found himself winking back and smiling before turning his attention back to Catherine.

She looked truly stunning tonight. Very few women could wear black successfully, but it was the perfect way to set off that gleaming auburn hair.

"I'm extremely impressed with this whole shindig," he said. "You and your grandfather really know how to throw a party." Vincent glanced down at the skunk. "None for you, stinky boy. I don't even know is skunks can handle mushrooms, and this cream sauce might be a little too rich for you."

Vincent would swear he saw Pepe sulk.

"A wise move, Mr. Keller. You have no idea if it might upset his stomach or not."

"Please, call me Vincent."

The look she gave him out of the hazel orbs dashed his hopes of having made any progress at all.

"I'm continuing to pretend that we've just met."

"I see." He set his fork down, finished with his pasta, and the unobtrusive waiter swept in and cleared away the plate. "Well, I can't force you, Catherine, but I do want you to know that had I know you were as inexperienced as you were, I would have taken . . . a little more care."

He could tell he'd gotten to her by her expression. Slightly softer, less wary. She wasn't on guard for a moment, and he wondered what her life had to be like, a very wealthy and sheltered young woman, constantly on the lookout, feeling she had to be that vigilant in protecting her freedom.

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"There's one more thing I have to know. And then if you absolutely insist, I'll leave you alone."

She sighed. "And what might that be?"

"That night, when we . . . got to know each other. Did you use any sort of protection?"

"Against what?"

"Possible pregnancy."

"Oh." She was silent as the waiter came to their table and placed their dessert dishes in front of them; a chocolate terrine, rich slices of decadence on a plate.

"Did you?" Vincent pressed. "Because I'm ashamed to admit, I certainly didn't."

He watched, fascinated, as a blush slowly rose from the swell of her breasts, up her neck, and into those cheekbones. He'd fantasized about that face, late at night, and now he found that blush rather charming.

"No," she said softly, as his gaze caught and held her own. "I wasn't . . . I didn't . . . I mean, I wasn't even thinking right about that time."

They stared at each other, both remembering that night and their response to each other, their chocolate desserts going untouched. Vincent leaned closer, close enough to count each and every eyelash on her eyes.

"Listen Catherine, I have to tell you . . ."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, The Dance for Animals official auction is about to begin!"

Vincent Catherine up at the stage. Thomas Chandler stood there, tall and proud behind the podium with its microphone.

Disappointed that his moment with Catherine had been interrupted, Vincent sat back in his chair and watched her. At least she hadn't bolted from his table as soon as dinner was over. But then again, that terrine would be eaten soon, and then she'd no longer have any excuse to stay.

If he was going to make his move, he'd have to move fast.

"We have one of San Francisco's finest auctioneers here tonight from Josephine's Antiques," said Thomas, "and to start things off with a bang, here's our first prize, a glorious parrot named Jean Lafitte. He's named after the famous buccaneer who terrorized the Gulf of Mexico during the early eighteen hundreds. Lafitte is an African gray, possibly the smartest breed of bird, and has a vocabulary of over two hundred words, many of them expressions that pirates used themselves would have used on the high seas."

Thomas stepped back, the gray parrot perched happily on his shoulder. It squawked loudly in his ear, and the audience laughed.

"Let the bidding begin!" Thomas called out. "And remember everyone, every single penny raised tonight will be used to benefit the Chelsea Chandler Animal Shelter in North Beach."

Vincent glanced over at Catherine and was surprised to see her eyes bright with unshed tears. And he thought he knew the reason.

"Chelsea?" he asked.

"He named the shelter after my grandmother," she said softly.

"That's beautiful," he said, and he meant it.

The bidding began, fast and furious. In no time at all, the bids had topped one thousand dollars, then two thousand, then swiftly escalated to three. Vincent sat back, amused, watching the richest people in San Francisco society, everyone dressed in their black-and-white finest, fighting for the right to take this immensely intelligent bird home.

Lafitte seemed to know he was on display. Thomas walked up and down the stage with the parrot on his arm. The elegant bird fluttered his wings and shrieked, "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!  _Arghhh_ , matey! Avast ye scurvy bilge rats, fire that cannon!"

Amid the laughter, bids flew even faster.

And Vincent sensed Catherine was ready to bolt out of his life. Again.

He had to act now or lose her forever.

Taking a huge emotional chance, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, then turned and Catherine at him, and all of a sudden he saw the hurt and loneliness in her eyes, the actual fear she had of getting close to anyone but her grandfather.

And he remembered how she'd lost her mother at such a young age and had never really known her father. He'd pretty much abandoned her. Oh, her grandfather had done what he could, but a kid never really got over the loss of a father.

Vincent knew he'd had his differences with his parents; they hadn't always approved of the direction he'd taken his life, but they'd always supported him emotionally. They'd always been there for him. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to have been abandoned, first by your father's callousness and then by your mother's early death. Catherine had been six years old and all alone in the world except for Thomas and Chelsea Chandler.

"Catherine, listen to me for a moment . . ."

"Four thousand five hundred!" the auctioneer called onstage, his diction rapid and flawless. "Ladies and gentlemen, do I hear five? Will we go to five?"

"Vincent, no! Don't! I just can't . . ."

And every good intention he had of going slow, giving her time, flew out the window. What was it about this woman that made him lose all control? That made him want to push and push and simply make her his own? That ignited his emotions in a way no other woman in his life ever had?

He threw up his hands in disgust. "Damn it, Catherine. . ."

"SOLD!" The auctioneer pointed directly to him and his outstretched hand as the spotlight shone on their table, illuminating him and Catherine. "For five thousand dollars, to the man with the  _skunk_!" Vincent shielded his eyes as Mr. LePew, scared by all the commotion, crawled into his lap and attempted to hide beneath the tuxedo jacket.

"Sold?" he asked, confused, then realized that when he'd thrown up his hands, the auctioneer had misunderstood and thought he was bidding on the bird.

"But I . . . but, I didn't mean . . ."

Then he saw Thomas Chandler's delighted face. The older man was coming down off the stage with the parrot on his arm, personally presenting him with his prize.

"Walk the plank!  _Arghhh_ , matey!" shrieked Lafitte.

"But . . . I . . ." Vincent stopped, recognizing defeat when it stared him in the face.

He was now the proud owner of a parrot.


	15. The Bird

Vincent turned to Catherine, astonishment in his gaze.

"Look at what you made me do!"

" _I_  made you do?" She started to laugh. Her grandfather had reached their table and made a great show of presenting Vincent with his parrot, letting the bird walk on his arm. An assistant followed her grandfather, with a portable perch, and Lafitte hopped right up on it.

"Won't he fly away?" Vincent asked nervously, and Catherine almost felt pity for him.

Almost.

Of course, there was a part of her that was really enjoying his predicament.

"No, no, my boy, his wings have been clipped," said Thomas. "Now, he also comes with a large cage, a cage cover, several toys, a six moth supply of food, and a free first visit to a vet who specializes in birds." He clapped Vincent soundly on the back.

"Thank you, you've been most generous in getting our auction off to a rip-snorting start!"

As Thomas headed back toward the stage and grasped the leash of a harlequin-spotted Great Dane, Cat decided there was no time like the present to exit, stage right. But as she started to rise, she felt Vincent's fingers close around her wrist.

"What about dessert?" he asked, his voice low. She sat back down.

 _That voice._  It took her back to a moment in a darkened den, firelight flickering, his face so close to hers, his expression so intense...

_Don't go there!_

"Ah, I don't-"

"You like chocolate just fine. You told me your grandfather lets you pick out the dessert every year, so I'm assuming you're not self-sacrificing enough to choose something you don't like."

He had her, dead to rights, on that one.

"Okay." She picked up her fork and cut off a small, smooth piece of the chocolate terrine. "You like chocolate, don't you?"

 _"_ _Chocolate!"_  said Lafitte.

Vincent stared at the bird. The perch had been placed behind Mr. LePew's chair, and the parrot looked at the skunk with great interest, his bright eyes gleaming. Vincent had finally managed to persuade the baby skunk that there was indeed life outside his tuxedo jacket.

"That bird is frightening. Are all parrots such fast learners?"

"They say the African grays are the smartest; they pick up words after hearing them just a few times. Sometimes even only once." She smiled at him sweetly. "You'll have to watch your language _."_

"Maybe I can donate him to some charity," Vincent muttered, picking up his fork.

They ate their dessert in silence while the Great Dane, an Angora rabbit, and an iguana were all auctioned off.

"Four thousand five hundred," muttered Lafitte, imitating the auctioneer. The parrot paced on his perch, spreading his wings and cocking his feathered head. "No, five thousand, five thousand it is!"

"Cheer up," Catherine said. "You could have walked away with the iguana!"

 _"Iguana!"_  Lafitte agreed, his head bobbing up and down at all the excitement all around him.

"What are you doing the weekend after Christmas?" Vincent said.

"I...ah..."

"You're really flattering to a guy's ego," he muttered.

"I really am doing something, but it just isn't coming to mind."

He glared at her. "Washing your hair, perhaps?"

Catherine felt Coco come awake in her lap, bark softly once, then perk her head up and wag her tail as she stared at the parrot to the left of Vincent's shoulder.

"Your grandfather really likes those dogs, doesn't he?"

"His mother had Pekes. It's a family tradition."

"Pekes," agreed Lafitte, staring at the lap dog.

"Like parrots in mine," Vincent muttered.

"Your family keeps parrots?"

"No, Catherine, this is a first for me. What about the weekend after Christmas?"

She hesitated. "Vincent, I'm really not trying to be difficult. It's just that-"

"You're scared."

"Scared?" She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. How dare he think he could read her mind, tell her what she was thinking! _And how dare he so close to the actual truth!_

The guy was scary, he could read her so well.

"Not scared exactly, but-"

"Scared. Let's not mince words. Scared I'm going to hurt you. Scared that I'm going to disappear or walk away. Scared that I'm going to abandon you like your father did-"

Her temper fired. "What is this, intro to pysch? I don't have to sit here and listen to this-" She started to get out of her chair, but he managed to pin her with a look.

How did he  _do_  that?

"You're scared, Catherine; I'm scared; we're all scared. Relationships are terrifying. But listen to me for just a moment. I've been around the block a bit in my thirty-two years, and what we shared that night in New York is not the norm. I've never felt anything like it in-"

 _"_ _Six thousand!"_ Lafitte screamed at the top of his avian lungs.  _"Six thousand it is!"_

 _"Sold!"_  shouted the auctioneer, slamming down his gavel as the spotlight highlighted them both again, surrounding their table in blinding white light. Mr. LePew made for the safe haven of Vincent's jacket, Coco barked, and Lafitte fluttered his wings madly as he walked up and down the length of his perch.

" _What?"_  Vincent said, and Catherine craned her neck toward the front of the stage in time to see one of the volunteers come walking toward them, an adorable, tiny, fluffy white puppy in his arms.

"Congratulations, sir, you have just won yourself a bichon frise."

"A bitchin' what?" Vincent said weakly. Catherine started to laugh.

"How did this happen?" Vincent demanded, taking the puppy into his arms.

 _She really is an adorable little thing_ _,_  Catherine thought. The pup wriggled excitedly, then swiped at Vincent's face with her little pink tongue.

"You'll also receive a leash and collar, two bowls,a complete set of grooming tools, her first haircut at Le Pooch Palace, and a free vet's visit," the young man said. "Enjoy her Mr. Keller; she's just a darling, and we all love her at the shelter."

"Then let me give her to you-"

The young man backed up, his hands up in the air. "I couldn't do that, sir, not after you so generously donated six thousand dollars to the shelter for her."

Catherine almost laughed out loud at the expression on Vincent's face. "Oh, Vincent, Papa will be so pleased!"

He took a deep breath. "Okay. A bird and a small dog. But that's my limit!" He glanced back at Lafitte, nervously pacing on his perch, his head cocked toward Vincent. "But that's enough! Got it, my feathered friend?"

 _"That's enough, that's enough,"_  Lafitte agreed.  _"Pieces of eight!"_

"I want you to know something," Vincent said, turning in his chair and facing her as the auction continued around them. "I have  _never_  in my life gone to so much trouble to arrange a date with  _anyone_. Now, how about the second Saturday in January?"

"It's just the sex, isn't it?" she said. As long as she was trapped at this table with Vincent, she might as well get the truth out of him once and for all. "It's all about the sex, and you just want a repeat performance!"

 _"_ _Sex!_ _"_  Lafitte agreed.

"Damn it," Vincent said to his bird, "Would you put a lid on it!"

"Don't yell at Lafitte!" Catherine scolded, as she watched Vincent rake through his brown hair in frustration.

"What do you mean, it's all about the sex?"

"Remember our ride in the limo, after Heather's wedding?"

He blinked.

"On the way to the country club?" Catherine said. "You told me it was more than just sex, and you wanted to let Candy know. And I'm assuming here that you meant more than just sex in the sense that it was incredibly terrific sex, not just ho-hum regular sex, right?"

"Huh?" he said.

"But then later, when Heather was kissing Evan, you reconsidered and said, 'Don't go trying to pretty this up and make it all romantic. I know what it was, and even knowing what it was, it was pretty incredible.'"

He stared at her, clearly shocked. "What do you do, go around with one of those spy recorders concealed in your dress?"

"No, I just have an incredibly good memory. And if I recall, you also said, 'I have a healthy respect for love's limitations.' So, Mr. Keller, if you want to have some hot sex with me, that's one thing. But don't try to pretty it up and try to get me to believe that you fell in love with me and have to be with me because of one sweaty, misguided night we spent together before a wedding."

 _"Sweaty,"_  Lafitte echoed.

Vincent looked like he wanted to strangle that parrot.

"I don't know what you're getting at, Catherine, but I do know you couldn't possibly be saying you'd be open to a sexual relationship with no possibility of commitment. Women aren't like that."

"No. That's true. There would have to be a minimal amount of ground rules in order for me to feel...safe."

He paused for a long moment, then said, "So what you are saying it that there's a possibility of our just having sex again."

She nodded her head. "To be totally honest, I can't quite get that night out of my mind, and I'd like to have sex with you one more time to see if it was just the circumstances of the evening, or if you were really that good."

"Wow. Nothing like giving a guy a little performance anxiety."

She almost laughed out loud. "What do you say, Mr. Keller? Or aren't you up to the challenge?"

* * *

Those sparkling hazel eyes were going to be his downfall.

He knew it, and he didn't even care. The thought of getting Catherine into his bed drove everything else out of his head. He didn't care where they were, or what was going on around them, he had to make sure she was saying what he thought she was saying.

_If this is a dream, don't wake me up._

"You've got to be kidding, Catherine. This is some sort of joke, right?"

"Nope." She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I've had a lot of trouble sleeping, remembering our night together. How about you?"

His imagination went into overdrive.

"When do you want to meet?" He wanted to get straight to the point. What he really wanted was a repeat performance with her, in his bed, in his arms, as soon as possible.

 _"Seven thousand dollars, my man, and not a penny more!"_ screamed Lafitte at the top of his lungs.

"Oh  _no_!" He'd been so busy with Catherine, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her, with her, that he hadn't kept a lid of his bird.

" _Sold!_ " the auctioneer bellowed, " for _seven thousand dollars_  and not a penny more!" And the spotlight was on them once again. Vincent stared in horror at the stage, where a potbellied pig that had to weigh close to one hundred pounds was standing patiently on a leash held by Thomas Chandler.

"Thank you, my boy!" he called out as he and the portly porker started down the stage steps toward their table. "I cannot  _begin_  to tell you what this means to me!"

"Mommy," said a little girl's voice from the table next to Vincent's, "that nasty man is buying up all the animals and there won't be any left for us! I don't like him!"

Vincent turned toward the child. "Would you like a pig? How about a parrot?"

"Certainly not!" said her affronted mother, gathering her little girl closer.

"But Mommy-" the child began.

"I said  _no!_ " said the flustered woman.

Catherine started to stand as her grandfather approached their table, pig in tow, and Vincent knew she was getting ready to make her escape.

He thought fast and faced Catherine. "We can't talk now. Coffee tomorrow, that little Italian place on Sacramento Street. I'll call you with the address." And then the pig's snout was in his face, the animal snorting happily, Lafitte screaming raucously, LePew hiding in his jacket, and the tiny white puppy still in his arms, wriggling and licking his face.

* * *

"Don't ask," Vincent said wearily to the concierge at his hotel, He knew how this had to look to the man behind the elegant, polished wood desk.

"A rough night, sir?" came the measured reply.

"In a manner of speaking. Please don't worry, I'll be leaving in a few days, and I'll certainly pay for any damages."

"We have an excellent pet-sitting program, sir. Please don't feel that your animal friends are of any concern to us. Many of our guest bring animal companions with them when they stay here. The suite you're in is actually quite popular."

"That's good to know." He knew how it had to look, standing in the lobby of the elegant hotel with a gigantic pig on a leash by his side, a baby skunk clutching his shirtfront, the bichon puppy in his arms, and a wise guy parrot on his shoulder.

Doctor Dolittle and his animal friends.

"Will you need assistance with that large pig in the elevator?"

These guys were good, he had to hand that to them.

"I'll see how Baco does. They assured me he was house-trained and quite used to both elevators and stairs. But could I have a few things sent up to the suite?"

"Certainly, sir."

"I'd like three of the largest litter boxes you can find, complete with litter, several copies of the daily paper, some bottled water, and a large fruit plate from room service."

"I'll get on that directly, sir. Anything else?"

"I'd like a movie tonight. Something suitable for a small child."

The concierge's brow rose.

"For the pig. He loves television."

The concierge checked his DVD movie list.

"Here's a child's film and an excellent one. Charlotte's Web." His brow wrinkled with concern, then he quietly cleared his throat. "Oh dear, obviously not. The beginning might not be quite suitable for your porcine friend; it might disturb him."

"I agree."

"Hmm. There's nothing else really suitable for children."

"What else do you have?"

"When Harry Met Sally?"

"Too close to home."

"Eat, Drink, Man, Woman?"

"Nope. I'm stuffed."

"Ah, here's one. Die Hard, the original, with Bruce Willis and Alan Rickman. And based on a quite excellent novel by Roderick Thorp, if I do say so myself."

_Bruce. Explosions. Nonstop action._

Vincent glanced down. "You like that, Baco? And of course, you understand that all the bloodshed is merely special effects."

Baco looked up at him adoringly, snorted happily, and leaned against him, all 120 pounds. He was like a very large dog with a snout and rough, wiry hair.

"Die Hard it is."

"Will that be all, sir?"

"I hope so." Vincent sighed. "But who knows, the night's still young."

Once he and his animal friends were settled in his suite, Vincent knew there was one phone call he had to get out of the way as soon as possible. Stretched out on his bed, he reached for the phone and called J.T.

"This had better be a dire emergency."

"Hey J.T., I just wanted to let you know that I spent a little more money than I intended at the charity dinner tonight."

That woke him up.

"How much?"

"Eighteen grand."

"Eighteen grand? And just what,  _exactly_ , did you get for eighteen thousand dollars?"

As succinctly as possible, Vincent told him.

"I even got a bichon frise."

"A bitching what?"

"A bichon frise."

"Oh, my. Vincent, I am sorry to hear that. Is it something penicillin can get rid of?"

"J.T., it's a dog. A tiny, white, fluffball of a dog."

After J.T. had finished laughing, Vincent said. "What do you think about opening an office out here?"

"Why?"

Vincent sighed. "I really like the coffee."

"It's that woman, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"What about earthquakes?"

"Would you rather freeze to death out there?"

"Point taken."

"I'm thinking we're about ready for a change," Vincent said.

"You just don't want to have to move all those animals back here. And speaking of animals, Riley is doing just fine. Thank you ever so much for asking."

"I'm glad."

"I can't believe you won a pig."

"That makes two of us." Vincent glanced toward the big-screen television, where Bruce got on an elevator with a huge stuffed bear for his children. The movie had just started, and as soon as he finished up this call with J.T., he'd microwave himself some popcorn and join Baco on the couch.

"Think about that office, okay?" he said.

"I will. And Vincent, if I don't talk to you, attempt to have a Merry Christmas. Stay out of trouble, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"I thought you wanted me to stay out of trouble."

J.T. hung up, still laughing.


	16. The Advice

Catherine couldn't sleep, so she pulled on a sweater and a pair of warm sweatpants and let herself out into the backyard. At around two in the morning, the night sky twinkled with stars and there was a decidedly chilly nip in the December air.

She wondered what she'd been thinking when she proposed having sex with Vincent.

But she had to know. She had to do this to get on with her life. It felt as if she were stuck at that night in his den, as if she couldn't get past it.

_It couldn't have been that wonderful._

They would have some coffee tomorrow, set up a time to have a date or do something before the inevitable happened.

And she knew it would. She couldn't seen to be anywhere near Vincent Keller and not think about sex. There was just something about the man.

She walked through the immense backyard, past the greenhouse and farther back into the property where the Japanese-style gazebo sheltered the hot tub. She'd turned it on earlier and knew it would be heated by now. Even though it was cold outside, once she was in the water, she'd be warm enough.

She'd never felt what she felt for Vincent for any other man. She'd had plenty of possibilities, what with her active social life and a grandfather who always had one eye opn for a suitable life partner for her. But the moment she'd seen Vincent...then started to talk with him...

She'd never met a man like Vincent, and probably wouldn't have if it hadn't been for Heather's wedding and the outrageous request her friend had made. But that request had put her at the right place at the right time, and now if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she and Vincent suited each other.

**Why beat around the bush? You were made for each other.**

But even knowing this didn't take away the fear.

Catherine let herself into the gazebo, openng the latch that led inside. Though the tub was exposed to the open air, the wooden slats that had been built halfwayup the side of the enclosure ensured complete privacy to anyone who wanted some time in the large hot tub.

She slipped off her clothing and slid inside, then reached for the button that started the hot water bubbling and churning. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and tried to relax, tried not to think about Vincent...and started to fantasize about having him right here, next to her, naked and in the tub with her.

_Maybe take it a step at a time. Don't look that far into the future. Stay in the present. Take this affair..._

She hesitated.

 _Take this_ love _affair one day at a time, moment to moment. You can at least try, can't you? Isn't he worth the risk?_

But even as these thoughts raced around in her head, images of Vincent in the Jacuzzi with her. Kept interrupting her thought process.

_When can I see him again? Besides our coffee date..._

Her eyes opened, and she almost laughed out loud.

_Perfect!_

Her grandfather already had Christmas arranged, he always gave a large and lavish New Year's Eve party. And she was sure that after Vincent had dropped such a bundle for one of her grandfather's favorite charities, he would have no trouble with her inviting him to the house on New Year's Eve.

What a way to start the year!

Alan Rickman had just fallen from one of the top floors of the building when Vincent came awake. Baco's attention was still riveted to the screen, but both Pepe and the fluffy white puppy were curled up next to Vincent on one of the couches, asleep.

Baco took up the whole other couch.

A nice family tableau.

Lafitte, the cause of all this insanity, was sound asleep beneath the cover on his cage.

Stretching, Vincent lay quietly on the couch and thought about Catherine.

He'd once had a rather insane notion that no woman was going to consume his thoughts. He would stay aloof, in control, always the captain of his ship.

And cold, unfeeling, and passionless.

This was strange new territory to him, but it felt right. It all came back to feeling so much more alive when he was around her. He didn't know why or how, but Fate had given him a chance at a different sort of life than the one he'd been pursuing.

It wasn't that he'd been unhappy with his life. It was that he'd had no idea what he was missing. From the moment he'd stormed into his family room, wondering what had been going on to make his guests howl like dogs at a full moon, nothing had been the same.

It had been wonderful.

Strange, how he'd dated women sho hadn't even inspired him to pick up the phone for another get-together, while Sookie had spurred him on to fly two thousand miles to the West Coast and find her. Pursue her. Claim her.

Oh yeah, he had it bad.

As far as he was concerned, they were perfect for each other. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman: a gorgeous physical presence, a wit so sharp he had to work to keep up with her, and a sexuality that absolutely knocked his socks off.

He was one content man. Well, as content as he could be with his future still in the balance. Vincent didn't think he would be able to rest until he knew that Catherine was his. And he was willing to wage an all-out battle in order to get what he wanted, as soon as possible.

Primitive thinking? Yes. A tad chauvinistic? You bet.

But there was nothing to be done for it. He was a man in love, and had finally surrendered to the inevitable.

He got up off the couch. Lifting Pepe up, he placed the little skunk in the carrier Tess had provided him, then took the white puppy into the bathroom, where she sleepily peed on the newspapers he'd put there for her.

Satisfied that she might last through the night, he headed back to the king-size bed that dominated one side of the spacious master bedroom.

Baco was staring at the screen, watching the credits.

"okay boy, time for bed."

The pig obligingly trotted into the bathroom, used the litter box, then came out and approached the bed. Vincent, lying face down with the puppy curled up on the pillow next to his head, turned his head slightly and eyed his new pet. Baco eyed the soft mattress as he snuffled.

"Not up on the bed. Got that?"

The pig sighed, then slowly lowered his immense weight to the carpeted floor.

The phone rang at about eleven the next morning, and Vincent felt as if a teen-ton weight was on his legs. He couldn't seem to move.

Glancing down, he realized that a ten-ton weight  _was_ on his legs. Sometime during the night, Baco had climbed up on the bed and was now lying across his legs. And Pepe had escaped his cage and was lying on top of the pig.

White Puppy –  _I have to give her a name!_ \- was still snoozing on the pillow, and Lafitte was mercifully silent, the cover still on his large cage.

He picked up on the fifth ring.

"Vincent?" a feminine voice said.

Tess. He didn't know why he expected it to be Catherine. She didn't even know his number.

"Hi, Tess."

"Well, I want to tell you that you made a hell of an impression on Thomas Chandler last night! He couldn't stop talking about how generous you were, all the way home. Catherine, however, was strangely quiet."

"Hmm," was all he said in reply. He wondered whether Catherine would bail on coffee today.

"But anyways, I called cause I know you're new here in town, and if you don't have anywhere to go on Christmas Eve, I'd be honored if you would come to my home. I'm having a group of people over, nothing really, we'll just eat dinner and drink wine and play silly card games. And, you're welcome to come to Christmas dinner, as well. I just hate to think of anyone alone at Christmas. Oh, and please bring all those adorable animals with you."

He'd made a great friend in Tess. Her generosity overwhelmed him, and for a moment, he couldn't reply.

"Vincent? Are you all right?"

With some difficulty, he pulled his legs out from under his pet pig. "I'm fine, Tess, and I'd love to spend Christmas with you. But I have a coffee date with Catherine this afternoon, and I thought I might ask you for a little advice as well as her phone number."

Tess laughed, a husky sound that let Vincent know that she'd led quite a life in her day. Probably still did.

"Of course, my dear boy. As for advice, I don't know that I need to give you any! I watching you with Catherine the other night, and I was enchanted with the way the two of you couldn't take your eyes off of each other."

"Hmm," Vincent said, considering this.  _Nothing like an objective opinion._

"Sparks were flying! You fascinate Catherine as much as she fascinates you! How do you say it, the irresistible force meets the immovable object?"

"And which one would I be?"

"Oh, I think you are the force, while Catherine may be a little immovable for a time, but not for long!"

"I have to admire your confidence."

"But of course! You see, while Thomas was busy with his auction,  _I_  had plenty of time to observe."

He had to laugh. Nothing got by this woman. She would've made a hell of a detective, that's for sure! "So you think I should just continue doing what I'm doing?"

"Exactly! Be that irresistible force."

"Good advice."

Tess laughed, the sound a throaty chuckle.

"Vincent, I live to serve!"


	17. The Meeting

Vincent was sitting at an outside table at the little Italian cafe on Sacramento Street when Catherine came walking around the corner, this time dressed in worn jeans, black boots, and a chunky fisherman-style cream sweater. It looked hand-knit and expensive. She had a sack-type purse slung over her shoulder.

"Hey, Vincent." She smiled and he was smitten. But he tried not to show it.

"Hey, yourself." He stood up and pulled out a chair for her at a small table he'd been sitting at. As he stood, he tucked the white puppy more firmly against his side. She had been absolutely adorable so far, hadn't had an accident in the hotel room once, but he hadn't felt right about leaving her at the hotel.

Baco and Pepe had gotten along famously with the pet-sitter he'd left them with; they'd all started to share another room service fruit plate. And Lafitte was enjoying his perch by the screened window and the glorious view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the bay that it afforded him. But as he'd left, Vincent had sensed the little white puppy had been afraid, so he'd decided to take her with him.

"You brought the puppy!" Catherine said. She lifted her arms up. "Mine. Mine. Have to hold her."

He laughed, then handed her his little dog.

"What's her name?" Catherine asked as she settled the frantically wagging puppy into her lap. A woman sitting near their table lowered her newspaper and smiled as she saw the little dog.

"White Dog, Cream Puff. The Six Thousand Dollar Dog. I don't know. I haven't really had a moment to think about it. But I figure that, like most dogs, she'll tell me her name when it's time."

He couldn't look at Catherine enough. His MO for today was to let her take the lead. She'd said she needed some basic ground rules in order to commit to a purely sexual affair, and he was curious to know what they were.

 _One step at a time_. As Tess had said, patiently be the irresistible force. But not too much force, or he might frighten her off.

He had to be like water on a rock, slowly wearing away Catherine's resistance to a permanent relationship.

First the sex, then they would would see about anything more permanent. But he couldn't afford to frighted her off at this stage of the relationship, so if it was sex she wanted...

"What are you having?" she asked, glancing at his coffee.

He came back to the present with a start, his mind veering abruptly off its one-track groove. "Double espresso. And I've already had a blackberry muffin."

"Hmm. I'm going to go inside and look at the menu. She got up and handed him the puppy. "Just for a minute, and then I want this baby back."

Vincent liked this cafe. It was an unpretentious place, with a menu that changed daily printed in colored chalk on a medium-sized blackboard up by the front register. Today there was a drawing of General Ackbar advertising the drink of the day.

Most of its business was in coffee and pastries. Just like a Starbucks, but with atmosphere.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, absently stroking Little White Dog's soft, curly fur. She'd come with a dainty collar and leash, in pink leather studded with rhinestones. Not what he would have picked, but it suited her.

"Cream Puff?"

No response, just total devotion and love shining out of those dark puppy eyes.

"The Six Thousand Dollar Pup?"

More adoration.

"White Dog?"

Nothing

He laughed. "How about White Fang?" The name came to him as he remembered an old Soupy Sales show he'd seen on late-night television.

She barked.

"White?' he said hopefully. This little pup didn't even have full-grown fangs.

No response. Just those eyes.

"Fang?" he said weakly.

She barked, then scrabbled her way up his chest to lick his chin.

"Fang?" he repeated again.

She wriggled some more, barked twice, then sat back and waited for him to say it again.

"Fang it is."

The sun felt wonderful on his back, even through the black leather jacket. Another glorious San Francisco day. His guidebook said it could rain in November and December, but he hadn't seen any signs of rain clouds yet. Instead, that cool, brisk ocean breeze followed him wherever he walked in the city. Compared to New York in December, he was truly having another day in paradise.

Catherine returned, seating herself back down at the table. She had a large white ceramic mug of some sort of coffee drink, and a lemon bar on a matching white ceramic plate.

"What did you wind up getting?" he asked.

"It's a Frappe! I'm a sucker for Star Wars. What are you doing for Christmas?" She reached for the puppy, and he relinquished her.

"Having dinner with friends. You?" He'd already decided to play a little hard to get. A man had his pride, after all.

She seemed taken aback by this. "I thought you didn't know anyone in the city."

"Well, not when I first arrived."

"Wow. You make friends quickly,"

He wasn't sure if she considered this a good thing or a bad thing, and decided to change the subject.

"Do you still want me to come over for New Year's Eve?" he said, referring to a message she'd left at his hotel. Nothing like jumping right in. Vincent had no time for subtlety.

She didn't even flinch. "Yes."

The lady certainly knew what she wanted. He decided to run with it.

"And the ground rules?" he prompted, picking up his espresso. Vincent had only been half kidding with J.T. The other night; he'd never tasted coffee this good in New York.

Exclusivity for the duration of the affair."

"You got it."

"Complete and utter discretion."

"Of course."

"and I can stop whenever I wish."

He leaned forward, sensing she needed this control and totally willing to give it to her. "As much as I may regret saying this at a later date, I want you to know that you can stop things from going further at any stage of the game, simply by saying the word _no_."

"Thank you."

Actually, it was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they blow this joint and find a hotel room, but he didn't want to come off as a crude and rude pig. Though he had no pretensions about understanding the opposite sex, he'd done his homework.

He'd glanced through _Cosmo,_  that contemporary source of dating advice. He'd sat through his share of chick flicks. He'd even picked up a copy of that dating bible,  _The Rules_ , and made it through the fifth chapter.

He let her take the lead because she seemed to need that reassurance, that control, After all, he'd pursued her with a vengeance, come all the way across the country, found her number through a mutual friend, and met her at this cafe. Now the power was firmly in her hands, and Catherine seemed to have no trouble at all with exercising it.

"How's your grandfather?"

She smiled, and he sensed she was very pleased he'd asked.

"So happy about the success of his charity dinner. Do you know, he raised almost seventy-three thousand dollars for his animal shelter?"

_Indeed I do, because eighteen thousand came directly out of my pocket!_

"That's fantastic."

"His first big project with that money is to try to trap and neuter a group of feral cats down by the fisherman's boats. Once they're fixed, he'll let them loose again, but he wants to try and keep the general population down."

" A wise idea. What are you up to today?"

"I thought I might get in some Christmas shopping."

"I thought women didn't wait until the last minute; only men did that."

"Did you wait?" She leaned forward, and he was struck by the fact that she was teasing him.

"The only last-minute presents I have are for the little friends I bought the other night." He frowned. "Though I have absolutely no idea what to get a potbellied pig."

"Come with me. We could find out together!"

The temptation was irresistible. And wouldn't it be wise to spend some more time with her so that she'd get used to having him around- besides in the sack?

"That sounds like fun. But what should we do with Fang?"

The little bichon barked once, sharply, then wagged her tail. It was clear to Vincent that she really liked her name.

" _Fang?_ " said Catherine. "For a dog that size?"

"I think she's one of those little dogs that thinks she's a big dog."

Cat gave him a look.

"Hey, it's the name she likes. None of this wimpy Pookie or Cream Puff stuff. Fang is a good strong name, and I think it gives her confidence. Besides, she'll grow into it."

"I don't think this breed gets to be more than ten pounds-" Cat began.

"Shhh. Don't tell her that!"

She laughed. "Then Fang it is." She ruffled the fluffy white hair on the pup's head. "Why don't we take her with us?"

"Shopping?"

"I'll bet we could even take her into the stores if we hid her in my purse, she'd so small." Catherine picked up the pup and placed a kiss on the black button nose. She promptly received a quick swipe of a tiny pink tongue in return.

"You're on!"

Shopping with Catherine was a lot of fun.

The shopping centers they went to were jam-packed with last minute shoppers, but as both of them were in no real hurry, they didn't let their tempers fray or the crush of people get the better of them.

At one of the several bookstores they visited, he found a book of essays on animal rights, bought it for Catherine's grandfather, and had it gift wrapped. But he had no idea what to get for her.

That changed when they strolled by a needlework shop.

"I've always wanted to learn how to do needlepoint," she said, staring at the gorgeous finished canvases in the large front window.

Thirty-five minutes later, they exited the store, and Vincent learned yet another detail about Catherine. While some women would have started small, with a five-by-five-inch canvas that only used the most elementary of stitches, Catherine went into whatever she did with all her heart. The canvas she'd picked out was quite large and depicted a group of Pekingese pups.

"This will look stunning in my grandfather's den," she'd said, eyeing the canvas. "And I can buy yarn to match his three little guys."

He'd insisted on buying both canvas and yarn for her, along with a snappy carrying case for the entire affair.

"Then I have to give you you gift early, as well." She pulled a wrapped present out from one of her several shopping bags.

She'd slipped that one by him; he hadn't seen her purchase it.

"You want me to unwrap it now?"

"Of course!"

They sat on a bench in an outdoor area between the shops, and he fumbled slightly while trying to get the tape to come off. What could she have possibly gotten him?

Then he laughed when he saw the two titles, _The Idiot's Guide to Potbellied Pigs_ , and _The Complete Dummy's Guide to Parrots_.

"These will come in extremely handy." He tucked the books into his shopping bag. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome." She was practically beaming, and he found he liked the fact that she found joy in giving presents.

As the day wore on, it got colder, and he insisted they stop forst for cookies and hot chocolate, and the later, for dinner. The bichon puppy slept in Cat's purse as they ate at a Japanese restaurant, steaming bowls of miso soup and the teriyaki and sushi.

"You have an adventurous spirit," he said, and he realized this was the quality he probably admired about her the most. If she hadn't possessed such a spirit, he doubted they would have met in the unique way they had.

"You think so?" She leaned forward, elbows on the black lacquered tabletop, her chin resting on her folded hands, studying him. "Sometimes I think I'm way too cautious."

"I don't think so." But then he realized maybe she was referring to her heart. He had a feeling it would take quite a lot of courage for Catherine to truly give over her heart. And he was surprised at how badly he wanted to be the man who received it.

He saw her to the ornate front gate of her grandfather's mansion.

"I had a wonderful time," she said, looking up at him.

Fog was just starting to roll in; the air was nippy and smelled of the sea. Warm lights were coming on in the surrounding houses. Christmas trees twinkled in front windows, and elaborate decorations made some of the neighboring houses look like fairy-tale creations.

"So did I. Thank you for the books. I'm sure Baco and Lafitte would thank you as well. You were right; I don't have a clue what I'm doing with the two of them."

She laughed, then scratched Fang's curly white head. Vincent had tucked the pup into the V neck of his wool sweater, and now she rested against his chest, safe and warm, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

"That's quite a name you gave her," Catherine said.

"I'm telling you, she'll grow into it. I have it on good authority that this breed gets really huge. Why, someone told me today that they max out at about ten eleven pounds." He grinned. "She'll strike terror into the career criminals." He wondered if Cat expected him to kiss her, and decided it would be more effective if he didn't.

"She'll just lick them to death, then Baco can do them in."

"Or Lafitte can talk them to death. Or bankrupt them."

An awkward pause.

He decided not to go for the kiss, and he could have sworn she detected the exact moment he decided, the shift in his emotions.

"Well...Merry Christmas," he said. "And please give your grandfather my best."

"Thanks, Vincent. And thank you for all the needlepoint supplies."

"I expect to see a masterpiece."

He turned away before he was tempted to try for a kiss, and walked off into the fog. Half a block away, he wanted nothing more than to turn and take another look at her, but he fought the urge.

He liked the thought of becoming unpredictable, a man of mystery.


	18. The Deviousness

"I thought we did rather well," Vincent said that night to Fang. They were sharing a steak dinner on the king-sized bed in his hotel suite, though Fang seemed to be getting more of the steak than the rest of the dinner. Baco snored on the far side of the mattress, while Lafitte's attention was completely captured by a Spanish  _novella_  on TV.

" _Ay! Caramba!"_  the parrot shrieked, as one of the female characters began to wail and cry, then gesticulate with her hands.

 _Strange,_  thought Vincent,  _I'm already used to the noise._ Amazing what one can adapt to.

Tess had stopped by his suite and picked up Mr. LePew, so now he was reduced to the animal he'd bought at the auction. But Vincent hadn't missed the expression on Baco's face when Tess had started out of the suite with the tiny skunk in his plastic carrier.

"If Baco gets depressed-" Vincent started.

"I'll let you have him back, I promise. Now remember, Christmas Eve dinner is at six. I'm starting early so we have plenty of time for cards."

"Sounds good."

Vincent grabbed the remote and changed the channel, ignoring Lafitte's squawks. He channel-surfed until he found what he was looking for: that evening's showing of "It's A Wonderful Life". Call him a sap, but it didn't feel like Christmas without Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey.

"You'll like this," he called over to Lafitte. _Oh great, now I'm talking to a parrot._

"I will?" said the bird, and Vincent had to laugh.

He'd already booked one of the hotel's vans for tomorrow evening, and the driver assured him that he had no problems transport a pig, a parrot, and a puppy. So everything was set for Christmas to unfold. Not quite the way it usually did, but what the hell; nothing in his life had been normal since he'd met Catherine.

Baco snorted softly, and Vincent handed him a thick-cut steak fry. "Only because it's Christmas, pal. Don't get used to it."

As the stars in the sky twinkled and Clarence the angel prepared to make his trip to Bedford Falls to save George Bailey, Baco began to snore contently, Fang curled up against Vincent's chest, and even Lafitte watched the classic black-and-white movie, enthralled.

She missed him.

Catherine sat back on her heels amid piles of sparkling wrapping paper, French wired ribbons, gift tags, tape, and scissors, and wondered at how she could miss Vincent so much.

They'd had so much fun today, shopping. She certainly hadn't meant for him to pay for her needlepoint, but he'd stepped right in as she'd piled all her purchases up by the front counter, including probably three times the amount of yarn needed to finish it.

Then hot cocoa, then dinner, then the long ride back to her home, and then-

She frowned.

He hadn't kissed her.

_Why?_

_Maybe because he's just as unsure about this whole thing as you are._

That had to be it. She picked up another present, a silk scarf in vivid colors that had reminded her of her neighbor, Tess Vargas, as soon as she'd seen it in the store display.

She was fond of the woman and planned to drop this present off to her as soon as she finished wrapping it.

Within the hour, she was doing just that.

"Catherine! How lovely to see you!"

"I just wanted to drop this off for you."

"You darling thing! I have presents for you and your grandfather as well. What are the two of you doing for Christmas?"

"It's just the two of us Christmas Eve, but he's having the rest of the relatives over Christmas Day." Thomas Chandler did really get along with his extended family; they thought him a rather odd and eccentric man. But that didn't stop him from keeping in contact with them.

"Well, if you get lonely on Christmas Eve and want a little excitement, I'm having some people over for dinner and games, that sort of thing. I'll be serving cake and cookies, and my homemade eggnog, of course. I think you know everyone who'll be there. A couple of family from around the block- oh, and that lovely young man from the auction the other night, Mr. Keller." She laughed delightedly. "I even told him he could bring all his animals with him. I wouldn't want them to spend Christmas Eve all alone."

_Vincent. Here. Christmas Eve._

Catherine thought swiftly. "I'll talk to my grandfather about tomorrow night, but I'm sure we'll come by for the games. Is there anything I can bring?"

"Just your sweet self."

"Good." Catherine stood. "I have to run right back. I'm still wrapping presents."

"Aren't we all!"

Tess watched her leave the room. She hadn't missed the way the girl's hazel eyes had lit up at the mention of Vincent. And of course she knew how Vincent felt about Catherine. That had been the whole point in inviting him to the Christmas Eve festivities – and making sure Catherine knew he was going to me there.

Love could always use a helping hand, if not a down-right push.

"Sometimes," she spoke aloud, to no-one in particular, "I amaze even myself."


End file.
